


Carry On Wayward Son

by Kenyastarflight



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Drama, Other, Prowl Lives (Transformers)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24517243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenyastarflight/pseuds/Kenyastarflight
Summary: After the events of "Endgame," Sentinel Prime uncovers a shocking discovery about Cybertron's new hero - and Optimus Prime must deal with the revelation that he is the son of Megatron.
Comments: 168
Kudos: 212





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> No apologies whatsoever if elements of the plot seem suspiciously similar to my other ongoing fic "Brothers In Arms." It's a new universe, I'm sure I can find new ways to spin it.
> 
> And yes, I'm tweaking the events of "Endgame" slightly so certain characters survive. Not sorry for that either. Drivetrain is actually a character from the "Transformers: Exodus" novel, and his appearance is based on his design in a War For Cybertron comic (as provided by the TF Wiki).
> 
> Title comes from the song by Kansas. 
> 
> Thanks to BasslineRaver for beta-ing!

In a chamber deep in the heart of Iacon, a meeting took place that would decide the future of Cybertron.

This wasn't nearly as heavy a statement as one might expect. Every meeting of the Council decided some aspect of Cybertron's future, even if it was something as miniscule as whether to raise a certain tax a fraction of a percent or change the design of the capital city's seal. Of late, however, almost every Council meeting held a solemn air, one that reminded every mech present that they played a hand in historic events… events that would have vast repercussions for Cybertron's future.

Optimus Prime should have been present at this particular meeting. As the one who had captured Megatron and his double-agent within Autobot High Command, it should have been his privilege and honor to tell his story to the Council. But he had respectfully declined to stand before the Council, insisting that he was needed back on Earth to round up Starscream's clones and recover the last few fragments of the Allspark.

Sentinel Prime wished this action could have tarnished Optimus' reputation before the Council… but if anything it only elevated him in their optics. To them, their hero was not only dedicated to his work, but too modest to sing his own praises. They allowed him to return to that Allspark-forsaken organic world without complaint, and let Jazz give his report on the battle.

"...an' the rest you know," the cyber-ninja finished, a satisfied smile on his faceplate. "Might hafta hit Optimus an' company up for all the details, though - mech can only be in one place at a time, y'know?"

"We appreciate your report, Jazz," Alpha Trion told him. "We will request a full report from Optimus Prime and his crew at a later date, but your version of events suffices for now."

Sentinel snorted and folded his arms across his chest. "Optimus should be here giving that report in person! Not gallivanting around on that dirtball-"

"That will be enough out of you, Sentinel," the aged statesmech told him, his voice sharp. "Your actions as acting Magnus are already being called into question. Don't dig your own tomb deeper."

He flinched, head-pipes angling back in embarrassment, but tried to compose himself quickly. "You have to understand, Councilors, that I was acting in the best interests of the Autobots. Sometimes tough decisions have to be made during times of war-"

"I'd hardly call this little uprising a war," Cliffjumper pointed out with a shrug. "And it's over anyhow, so the Council has seen fit to rescind the measures you issued during your term as Magnus - the curfew, the mandatory searches, the travel bans, everything."

Sentinel's head-pipes flicked back up, and his optics blazed angrily. "You had no right!"

"The Council has the right to decide when emergency measures may be ended," Alpha Trion replied. "The crisis is over. Megatron and the vast majority of his Decepticons are in custody, and our forces are rounding up the last of them as we speak. It is time we allowed ordinary Cybertronians to return to their normal lives, without living in constant fear."

Sentinel knew, logically, that Alpha Trion spoke the truth. But hearing that the Council planned to undo everything he'd accomplished rankled. "Fine. But you'd better not pull this stunt with every single law and edict I instate as Magnus."

At that, Cliffjumper and Perceptor shared a look - and while the scientist was as expressionless as ever, Cliffjumper actually had the audacity to smirk.

"What's so funny?" he demanded. Cliffjumper had been the closest thing he had to a friend back in his boot-camp days - to see him enjoying some joke at his expense was infuriating.

"You don't have to worry about THAT," Cliffjumper told him. "Because you're not going to be acting Magnus much longer."

Sentinel's jaw dropped. "What the slag do you mean?" Surely they wouldn't decide to promote Optimus Prime, that failure who hadn't even graduated from the Academy, ahead of him… surely the universe wasn't THAT dead-set against him...

" _Ultra Magnus has awakened from stasis,"_ Perceptor replied, his flat modulated voice sending a creeped-out shiver up Sentinel's spinal strut. _"His repairs will be completed within the next two planetary cycles, at which time he will resume the office of Magnus."_

Jazz had the audacity to grin at that news, while Sentinel just gawked. After Shockwave's attack on Ultra Magnus, most of the Autobots had assumed he was out of commission permanently. Hearing that he hadn't succumbed to his wounds but had rallied and made a full recovery left him stunned… and made his spark churn with a tangle of conflicting emotions. Relief that Ultra Magnus was alive, yes, but also anger and disappointment that his own time as Magnus had been so short… and had ultimately been ineffective.

"You will, of course, step down graciously and return the Magnus Hammer once Ultra Magnus is ready to resume his duties." Alpha Trion's words were clearly a statement, even a command, rather than a question.

Sentinel ground his dental plates but nodded sharply. "I'll step down… but Ratchet still has the Magnus Hammer."

"Then he will be asked to return it as soon as Ultra Magnus is ready for it," Alpha Trion replied. "In the meantime, Sentinel Prime, you will stand by and await your next assignment."

He tried his hardest not to wince at that. If the Council was going to take this opportunity to kick him while he was down by giving him a scumbag assignment…

" _Archivist Drivetrain, you are permitted to take the floor,"_ Percepter droned.

A skinny blue-violet mech with a cylindrical helm and a rectangular visor stepped up to the dias, and Sentinel and Jazz shifted aside to let him address the council. Drivetrain didn't even look at Sentinel as he addressed the Council… though he didn't even look at the Council, just kept his visor fixed on the datapads in his hands, so the Prime tried not to take TOO much offense at that.

"After Megatron's, uh, capture, we took up the task of searching the archives for more information on his, uh, criminal history," Drivetrain informed them. "We found some, uh, information that we felt the Council should be made aware of."

Sentinel rolled his optics, earning an irritated look from Jazz. Why not just state the information straight-out instead of drawing things out for dramatic effect? The Council gave no sign of annoyance, however, and simply motioned for him to continue.

"According to our research," Drivetrain went on, shuffling through his datapads, "during the Great War, Megatron sparked, uh, offspring."

Sentinel's head-pipes had drooped at the news that his time as Magnus was drawing to a close… but they jerked straight up at this bombshell. The Council erupted into surprised chatter, optics flashing, even the stoic Perceptor looking shocked at the revelation.

"You're jivin' us!" Jazz protested.

Drivetrain shook his head. "The sparkling in question was activated, uh, shortly before the end of the war. We have records of the, uh, protoform being activated and the spark transferred… but no information on the, uh, child actually being seen in the company of Megatron."

Cliffjumper frowned. "If Megatron has offspring running around, this could be bad news. What if they decide to come break him out of prison? Or worse, take charge of the Decepticons in his place?"

" _There is no evidence that a mechanism will behave in an identical fashion to their parental unit-"_ Perceptor began.

"Nevertheless, this matter must be attended to," Alpha Trion noted. "Sentinel Prime, your mission is to investigate further. Find out if this rumored child of Megatron exists, and if so, find them and bring them before the Council."

Sentinel nodded, his anger mollified for the moment. It could have been far worse - at least he wasn't stuck repairing space bridges or mucking out grease pits. And perhaps he could work this to his advantage. True, bringing the son or daughter of Megatron before the Council wasn't quite as dramatic as arriving to Cybertron with Megatron, Shockwave, and Lugnut in cuffs, but it could still boost his prestige in the optics of the Council.

And of course, the child of Megatron couldn't be allowed to run rampant through the galaxy, rallying their father's remaining troops and rekindling the conflict all over again. He would find the spawn of Megatron, and he would bring them back in chains. He would protect Cybertron with all his spark… and show Optimus Prime that he, too, could be a hero.

"I accept this mission, Alpha Trion," Sentinel replied, saluting sharply. "I will not rest until we've found the sparkling and solved this mystery once and for all!"

"Thank you, Sentinel Prime," Alpha Trion intoned, nodding. "You and Jazz are dismissed… and Jazz, the Council expresses our condolences for the loss of your comrade."

Jazz's casual smile faded, and he gave a respectful bow. "Thanks, sir. Prowl died a hero, but… ain't much of a consolation, t' be honest."

Perceptor raised a hand. _"On the matter of Prowl's deactivation… I must correct an error on Alpha Trion's part. There have been… developments."_

"Developments?" Sentinel demanded, scowling. He hated it when he didn't understand what was going on.

" _The announcement of Prowl's deactivation was premature,"_ Perceptor replied. _"Against all odds… he is alive."_

* * *

Lights flicked on in the corridor outside Megatron's cell, the illumination stabbing painfully into his optics before the sensors adjusted to the brightness. Normally the maximum-security wing of the Kalis Correctional Facility was kept darkened, ostensibly to conserve energy but mostly to demoralize its prisoners. The lights coming on could mean a few things - another prisoner being dragged in, an accused mech being hauled out to face trial, a surprise inspection… or if the squeak of the fuel-cart wheels was any indication, a ration delivery.

Megatron frowned behind the mouthplate that had been bolted to the lower half of his face. Was it really that time already? The monotony of this place was wreaking havoc with his internal chronometer. Either that or it had been damaged during his capture - all too possible, especially as his captors had made no effort to repair him before locking him away.

The hulking mech in the cell across from him growled and slammed a fist against the thick transparisteel wall, as if trying to attack him through their cell walls. Megatron might have responded to the threat, but he couldn't even move - not only was he in stasis cuffs, but his cell was so cramped that even if he had been free of his bonds, he wouldn't have been able to so much as lie down. Either the Autobots were so terrified of him they wanted him totally immobilized, or they were trying to crush his spirit. Perhaps some of both.

The cart paused before his cell, and Megatron locked gazes with the squat yellow-and-green minibot pushing said cart. The mech stared at him a long while, optics bright with amazement.

 _Yes, gawk to your spark's content,_ Megatron thought icily. _It's not like I'm going anywhere._

The minibot's expression of awe broke into a smirk, and he grabbed a cube from the cart and held it up for Megatron to see - presumably his daily ration. Then the mech drank it down himself and pushed the cart further down the corridor.

Megatron tried to clench his fists in anger, but the stasis cuffs wouldn't allow him to do more than twitch his fingers. Rage seared through him, and he wanted nothing more than to snap his cuffs and shatter the walls of his cell, to chase that little runt down and beat that smirk off his face…

Then a wave of exhaustion snuffed out his fury, and he shuttered his optics as his head slumped against the wall of his cell. He was so tired… anger took too much energy, and he couldn't keep up the rage and hatred. He hadn't refueled since he'd been locked in this cell, and the damages Optimus Prime had inflicted on him still burned with agony. He couldn't even muster the energy to glare at the fuel-cart mech as he finished passing out rations to the prisoners (at least the Autobot ones) and scurried out.

He had failed. He had striven to rebuild his empire, and he had been thwarted by an upstart space bridge maintenance worker. The blow was humiliating, and knowing his most elite troops were either dead or also imprisoned was just as devastating a blow. And worse, he knew rescue wasn't coming - he'd flat-out ordered his Decepticons to stand down and await his command to invade Cybertron, an order that would never come now.

His thoughts drifted, his CPU shifting in and out of awareness as his chassis trembled with weakness. Memories rose to the surface, as if trying to drown out the misery of his current situation. There were memories of triumph, of battles won and enemies crushed… but also quieter moments, of the serenity of deep space, of a moment of contemplation before flying into battle…

And if his CPU reached back far enough, of a smaller form curled up against his torso, drowsing in recharge at his father's side. A young mech, spark newly installed in his protoform, nestled trustingly against the mech who had sparked him, the warlord's arm draped protectively around him even as their ship hurtled towards a rendezvous with destiny…

He forced his thoughts away from those memories. No… thinking of the little mech would do no good now. His son had been kidnapped megacycles ago, captured by slavers, and all efforts to find him had failed. The child was dead by now… and though Megatron had channelled his grief at the loss of his son into a burning rage that served him well on the battlefield, that rage would do nothing but drive him insane now.

But the memories wouldn't be quieted. They continued to dominate his sluggish thoughts, and to haunt his dreams when he finally slipped into a fitful recharge.


	2. Thoughts of the Past

" _Come out wherever you are, little one."_

_He huddled under the seat, hardly daring to cycle air as his pursuer stalked past his hiding place. He knew he couldn't hide forever… but if he could just put off the moment of discovery a little longer…_

" _Where are you?" the hunter asked, voice a low, taunting sing-song as he turned around and crept closer. "I know you're in here… I can smell you…"_

_The thought of his pursuer sniffing him out was too much, and he snorted in laughter. It was a single burst of sound, no longer than a couple astroseconds, but it was enough to catch the mech's attention anyhow. Optics flashing, he strode towards the chair and swooped down to grab the little mech._

" _Gotcha!"_

_He shrieked and kicked his legs as hands snatched him up… and let out a whoop of laughter as his captor tossed him into the air and caught him. Strong arms held him aloft a moment longer before cradling him close, and he giggled in delight as the larger mech sat down in the chair that had been his hiding place._

" _Well, this has been a welcome respite," the mech rumbled, holding him to his chest. "But we have to get back to work now, little one. This war won't win itself."_

_He didn't understand quite what the mech was talking about, but he made his voice heard anyhow - a string of meaningless syllables that were his best attempt at mimicking the older mechs' speech patterns._

" _Interesting strategy," the older mech noted, laughing softly. "I question some of the tactics, however. I'll take it under advisement, though."_

_He brightened, thrilled that he'd gotten a response, and babbled again._

" _Ah, excellent point - we need to tighten our defenses in that quadrant." A massive hand rested atop his helm and rubbed gently. "We're going to make this universe a better place, little one. We are going to change the course of destiny."_

_None of those words meant anything to him, but he chattered and squealed anyhow._

" _I'm glad you agree. Now hold on tight - we're going into transwarp."_

_He clutched the larger mech tightly as the ship vibrated around them, gearing up for a leap across space. The strength and power and deep voice this mech commanded should have been terrifying… yet they were comforting and safe to him. He trusted this mech utterly, looked up to him with utter devotion._

_It was only natural, of course, that a sparkling adore their creator, the mech or femme who had given them life. If he could only see his face… a face that seemed to vanish into mist every time he tried to focus on it..._

"PRIME!"

Optimus snapped to attention, his gaze darting from the window to Ratchet. "What?"

"If you're done steel-wool-gathering over there, you can help me pack up my scanner! Is there some kind of regulation that the medic has to pack all his own gear or what?!"

Optimus shook his head, clearing away the last fragments of memory, before hurrying to the white mech's side. "Just tell me where everything goes, and I'll make sure it gets there."

Ratchet nodded, his frown fading somewhat. "At least I know you'll be careful with all this sensitive equipment. A few other jokers I know would likely drop or step on something important."

"You know Bumblebee and Bulkhead mean well," Optimus replied with a smile, disassembling the medical scanner and carefully stowing the pieces in the proper crates. "Their enthusiasm just overrides their common sense sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Ratchet repeated, arching an optic ridge.

"Don't worry, I have them out on a mission at the moment," he told the medic. "They're going to see if they can find any trace of the Dinobots and determine if they want to come to Cybertron with us or stay here. They'll stay out of the way while we get everything packed up and transported to the new base."

"Not sure I trust those idiots with the Dinobots anymore than I trust 'em with my equipment," Ratchet grumbled. "If they come back scorched or bitten or stomped on, they better not come crying to me."

"They won't."

Ratchet nodded sharply and dug into one of the crates, grumbling as he rearranged the parts to better suit his tastes. From the way the items clunked and clanged together Optimus worried he'd break something important, but the medic seemed to know what he was doing, so he didn't voice a protest.

Optimus looked down at the component in his hands, idly turning it over in his fingers. Dismantling Ratchet's workshop was a necessary step in moving their headquarters from this old factory to the new facility closer to Sumdac Tower… but he couldn't suppress a pang in his spark at the thought of leaving. The new base would be completely up-to-date, with Cybertronian technology and better access to the satellites and other tools that would help them track down the remaining Decepticons on this planet. But this factory had been home, comforting and familiar, and though run-down and crumbling it had the sort of charm and history to it that only old buildings possessed. In an odd way, he knew he would miss it.

 _Don't mope about it,_ he told himself. _This is a change, yes, but it's a change for the better. You'll be better able to help the humans AND the Autobots at the new base. Besides, it's not as if you're leaving Earth entirely…_

"PRIME!"

Ratchet's shout startled him so badly that he nearly dropped the component, and took some rather inelegant fumbling and flailing to catch it again. "What is it?"

"Stop staring off into space and hand me that!" Ratchet snapped. "What's going on in that head of yours? CPU slowdowns? Do I need to do a virus scan before I close up shop?"

Optimus shook his head and handed the part over. "No, Ratchet… I just have a lot on my mind, is all."

Ratchet raised an optic ridge, then dropped the part into the appropriate crate with a resounding THUNK. "The news about Prowl being still online?"

"Among other things." Optimus thoughtfully ran a hand over the workbench. "I still don't understand how he could have survived that merge with the Allspark. His chassis was completely gray… yet somehow his spark hung on…"

"The scientists are still tryin' to figure it out," Ratchet noted. "Wish they'd hurry up and figure it out so we can get him back. Place isn't the same without him."

Optimus nodded. They had left Prowl on Cybertron when they had returned to Earth to complete their work, assuming that his chassis would be interred with full honors. It had been a shock to all of them to learn that the medics, while conducting an autopsy, had found his spark still clinging to life, barely a flicker but still burning with a tenacity that had startled them all. First Aid and Pharma sent back frequent updates, and the last they had heard Prowl had come fully online and seemed aware of his surroundings, though wasn't quite coherent enough to receive visitors yet.

Like Ratchet, Optimus hoped that Prowl made a full and swift recovery, and that the scientists finished their studies on him soon. Theirs was a tight-knit team, and they felt Prowl's absence all too keenly. Even Jazz spending more time among them wasn't enough to fill in that gap… and though he liked Jazz well enough, he was no replacement for their old friend.

"What else is eatin' you, kid?" Ratchet asked, sitting down on a crate. "Get it off your chest now, before the lunatics come back."

"I'm fine," Optimus insisted. "You might be a medic, but I'm not sure you're a qualified psychiatrist."

"Har-har," Ratchet retorted. "And I don't recall YOU being a qualified comedian either. Spit it out, Prime. I'm a tough mech, I can handle whatever it is."

Optimus sighed and sat down on the workbench, staring down at his feet. "Just… so much has happened in so short a time. I'm still trying to process it all - capturing Megatron, identifying Longarm Prime as a Decepticon agent, rescuing Omega Supreme, Prowl's near-death experience… it's a lot for a few days' work." He shook his head, chuckling ruefully. "If someone had told me back at the orphanage that I would be the mech who took down Megatron, I would have told them they were a few chips short of a full processor."

"Don't knock your origins, kid," Ratchet chuckled. "The greatest mechs often rise from humble beginnings. Just don't let it swell your head like SOME mechs we could mention - and who the SLAG let a dog in here?"

Optimus glanced up to watch the robotic canine dart into Ratchet's workshop, barking furiously as it ran in aimless circles. A short, plump man with a shock of black hair striped with white chased after it, panting with the effort. Despite his wistful mood, Optimus couldn't help a chuckle at the sight.

Ratchet rolled his optics and raised an arm, extending the prongs of his electromagnet. The robot dog yipped as it floated in the air and into the medic's outstretched hand.

"You can't even control the pets you build, can you?" he grumbled, handing the mechanical beast back to Professor Isaac Sumdac.

"I'm still working out the kinks," Isaac replied, gathering the dog in his arms. "Masterson did a number on Sparkplug's circuits when he reprogrammed him, but perhaps with a few more tweaks… ah, sorry, I'm rambling."

"You're just fine, Professor," Optimus assured him with an easy smile. "What brings you here? I thought you were overseeing the construction of the new base."

"I came to see if Sari was here," Isaac replied. "She is rarely home anymore, and I thought perhaps she was spending time with her friends here. But I haven't seen a sign of her."

"She's on Cybertron at the moment," Ratchet noted. "Kid managed to sweet-talk some higher-ups into letting her enroll in classes and learn more about the Cybertronian way of life. Suppose that makes sense, given her origins."

"...oh." The professor gazed down at the robotic pup in his arms, his expression drooping. "She… never told me where she was going. She didn't even say goodbye."

"I'm sure she was just over-excited about learning more about her Cybertronian heritage," Optimus assured him. "Still… the next time I'm on Cybertron, I'll contact her and remind her to stay in touch with you. Just because she's a technorganic doesn't mean she needs to forget her human origins… or her family."

Isaac nodded. "Thank you, Optimus. Your friendship means a great deal to me." He made for the door, then stopped and turned to face the Autobots with a puzzled expression. "My apologies, but I couldn't help overhearing something about… an orphanage?"

Ratchet snorted. "Yes, an orphanage in a place called Nunya."

"Nunya?" Isaac repeated.

"As in 'nunya business.'"

Optimus snorted as he struggled to hold back a laugh. "And here Bumblebee claims you have no sense of humor. But in all honesty… it's not a big secret, Ratchet. We can tell him." He turned his attention back to the human. "I spent most of my sparkling-hood in an orphanage in Iacon back home. It wasn't a terrible life, but… not the most illustrious of origins, I suppose."

"Ah." Isaac set Sparkplug down, and the dog busied itself with sniffing every square inch of the floor as the scientist sat down on the floor. "Then… we have something in common, I think. I lost my parents when I was very young, and lived for several years in an orphanage in India."

"Oh dear… I'm sorry for your loss," Optimus told him.

Isaac shook his head. "It has been many years. I was a little boy when my parents passed, and while I still miss them, time has helped heal the wounds." He patted Sparkplug's head when the dog veered within reach. "I was adopted by an American couple when I was twelve, and have lived here ever since. Not an illustrious origin, as you say, but origins do not always determine what we become, eh?"

"That's true," Optimus acknowledged with a bit of a smile. "Though I was never adopted - I got my adult upgrade while still in the orphanage, and like all orphans who never get adopted I was shipped off to the Academy first thing." And was expelled for the little jaunt that had cost him two friendships, he thought, but decided not to bring that up right now.

"If I may ask… you mentioned you were a sparkling. That's like a child, right?"

Optimus nodded.

"I thought the term was 'protoform,' though," Isaac replied with a puzzled frown. "And… how do Cybertronians have children? Certainly not the biological way…"

"'Protoform' is the term we use for a body that hasn't received a spark yet," Ratchet explained. "We use 'sparkling' for a protoform that's just received a new spark from a parental mech, or 'youngling' for a protoform that's given life directly from the Allspark." He shifted, the crate beneath him creaking under his weight. "Most mechs come directly from the Allspark, but when we lost the Allspark after the war more and more young mechs were brought about through sparking. Some claim it's an inferior method, but some of our best mechs were sparked rather than brought forth from the Allspark." He nodded at Optimus.

"So you don't need the Allspark to reproduce?" asked Isaac, his eyes bright with curiosity. "You can create new life on your own?"

"'Course we don't, otherwise the Council would have thought twice about launching it into space - or at least we HOPE they would have." Ratchet rolled his optics, making it clear just how much he trusted that particular governing body. "Any mech can spark a child - they just take a protoform and imbue a portion of their own spark into it. It's generally recommended they use a much smaller protoform than normal, though, since the newspark will be too small to support a full-sized protoform."

"Like the protoform that became Sari," Isaac noted. "So you are saying… that when I touched the protoform, I sparked a newspark somehow?"

"I have no fragging idea how the kid came about," Ratchet admitted. "What happened there is something we'll only be able to understand through dedicated study, and whether we get any of THAT done depends on if she holds still long enough for us to do it."

"I doubt she will want to be made a test subject anyhow," Isaac admitted. "So… you were sparked, Optimus? You had parents?"

"At least one parent," he replied. "Two parents are recommended for creating a sparkling, as both their energies will combine to form a stronger newspark, but one can manage it. I have some faint memories of a parental figure… but none of a second parent."

"Do you remember what happened to him?" Isaac asked. "Or… should I not pry? I'm sorry, I didn't stop and think how painful this must be for you…"

"It's all right," Optimus assured him. "I don't mind talking about it. Though there's not much to tell, to be honest. My memories from my sparkling days are rather patchy - I remember bits and pieces, but nothing completely clear until the orphanage."

Though that wasn't to say that there weren't fragments floating about in his CPU. Nothing definite enough to determine exactly what had happened, but still troubling - shouts, screams, rough hands snatching him out of a dark corner, a too-small cage crammed with sobbing and whimpering mechs…

"You're doin' it again, Prime," Ratchet snapped. "Come back to us."

Optimus shook his head. "Sorry. It's just been on my mind a lot lately. Thoughts of my father, and my past."

Ratchet shook his head. "Dwelling on it won't help, Prime. Your father most likely died in the war. We lost a lot of good mechs and femmes in those dark times, and the best thing to do is mourn them and move on."

"But his father could still be alive!" Isaac protested. "That means that perhaps, with Megatron in prison and the fighting over, he can try to find him!"

"Don't get his hopes up," Ratchet advised. "Too many mechs have tried to track down lost relatives after the war, and most of them end up disappointed - either their loved ones are offline or there's just no trace of them. Plenty of ways to make a mech vanish entirely, and not all of them end in death."

Optimus winced. No, compared to some fates, death was a mercy. Slavers and mercenaries had abounded in the final days of the war, profiting off the misfortune of others and taking advantage of the chaos to fatten their own pockets. And plenty of mechs had been assumed killed in the fighting, only to be recovered from slave ships in deep space… if they were ever recovered at all.

"There could still be a chance, though." Isaac insisted. "He can still try, right?"

"I still have duties to carry out here," Optimus replied. "There are still pieces of the Allspark to recover, and Starscream's clones to round up. Not to mention tracking down any other mechs the Allspark fragments might have created, like Wreck-Gar and the Constructicons."

Isaac nodded. "But that shouldn't take you forever. After you're done, I suggest you find out what happened to your father. Who knows - perhaps he's out there looking for you!"

"It's been vorns!" Ratchet protested. "Even if the mech's still alive, he's probably given up looking. Face it, it's like looking for a screw in a scrapheap."

But Professor Sumdac's words had struck a chord deep within Optimus, sending a jolt of energy through his spark. He'd always assumed that whatever had separated him from his family had also killed his father, but what if his father was still alive? What if, rather than give up his sparkling for dead, he was searching the cosmos for any sign of him? Would it be possible to track him down, and be reunited with him once and for all?

"Do you really think he'd be looking for me?" he asked.

Isaac smiled. "I'm a father, Optimus. And if there's one thing I know, it's that a father will move mountains and cross galaxies for their child."

Optimus smiled in return. "Thank you, Professor. That means a lot to me."

"You're welcome." He waited for Sparkplug to swerve close again, then snatched him up in his arms. "Let me know if I can be of any assistance. You Autobots have done so much for me - when I don't even feel I deserve it much of the time. It's the least I can do for you."

"Professor, we don't hold you responsible for your actions as Megatron's captive," Optimus assured him. "You don't owe us anything. But we'll let you know if we need your help."

"What Megatron made you do, no," Ratchet added. "Now for reverse-engineering your fortune out of the remains of a Cybertronian, even if the mech in question was Megatron-"

Optimus had just opened his mouth to tell Ratchet to stop talking when his comm unit pinged, and he touched the side of his helm. "Bulkhead, Bumblebee, what's the situation?"

 _We got a problem, boss!_ Bumblebee informed him. _Dinobots are here, but so are some of Starscream's copycats! And it looks like they've sweet-talked the Dinobots into joining up with them! They got us pinned down in Meltdown's old lab!_

Optimus stood, ready to bolt for the door at a moment's notice. "How many clones?"

 _At least two, boss,_ Bulkhead chimed in. _The purple one and the femme one. No sign of the blue one._

"If Skywarp and Slipstream are there, then Thundercracker's not far behind," Optimus noted, using the temporary designations they'd come up with to avoid just calling the clones "the purple one" and similar nicknames all the time. "Hold on tight. Ratchet and I are on our way!"

 _You might wanna hurry,_ Bumblebee advised. _I'd kinda like to NOT be stomped flatter than a plutonium pancake before going back to Cybertron!_

Optimus nodded and turned to Ratchet. "Bumblebee and Bulkhead are in trouble. Starscream's clones have made an alliance of some kind with the Dinobots."

Ratchet groaned and pushed himself to his feet. "Fraggit, and here I thought some of this insanity would go away with Megatron locked up."

"Good luck, Autobots!" Isaac told them, stepping back to give them room. "Try to come back in one piece!"

"We'll do our best," Optimus vowed, and he and the medic transformed and tore out of the base, lights flashing and sirens screaming. Megatron and his personal forces might be in prison now, but there was still a great deal to do before they could consider Earth and its natives out of danger. And he vowed he wouldn't abandon this planet until they'd made it safe once and for all.

* * *

Sentinel ground his dental plates and resisted the urge to pick up the computer tech and shake him until the desired result fell out of him. What had begun as an exciting quest to boost his prestige in the optics of the Council had become a discouraging slog through mountains of information, hoping for a scrap or two that might be useful. And any thrill he might have felt at the hunt for said scraps had faded into a desire to fling datapads at anything that moved.

"I've aaaaaaaaaaalmost got it back online," Autobot Tech Officer Gizmo noted, still bent over the fritzing computer console. "Sometimes these Epsilon models get a bit temperamental, especially if you give them too big a workload. Best thing to do is reboot 'em and give 'em a few minutes to clear their caches-"

"Do I look like I care about the technical details?" Sentinel snapped. "Just get it working again!"

Gizmo flinched and tapped a few more keys. "It's up, it's up! Just give it a bit to warm up-"

Sentinel shoved him aside and sat down, fingers rattling over the keys. The records of Megatron breaking into the protoform bank were here, as well as records of a small protoform intended for a sparkling being stolen during said break-in. From there, however, the trail went cold. For all Sentinel could tell, the Decepticon leader could have sparked a child, sold the protoform for weaponry, or just chucked it into deep space for whatever Allspark-forsaken reason suited his whimsy.

He shook his head and pulled up another database of stolen or missing protoforms, scrolling futilely through the dates as if hoping something would materialize out of the mess. He refused to believe that Megatron's child didn't actually exist. They were out there somewhere… it was just a matter of finding them. HOW to find them, though…

"Could I suggest something, sir?"

Sentinel swiveled his chair around to glower at the tech. "Why are you still here?"

Gizmo yelped and backpedaled a few steps, hands raised. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I just wanted to help! You looked a little lost and I thought maybe a pointer or two could-"

"When I want your help, technician, I'll ask for it!" Sentinel growled. He turned towards the screen, clicked on a few more keys, stared at a few more pop-up windows, then turned back to Gizmo. "...coincidentally, if I asked you for pointers, what would you tell me?"

The tech grinned and scooted closer, reaching around Sentinel to type. "You're looking for a sparkling, right?"

"Yes… one that went missing during the war." He'd deliberately left the rest of the details vague - no sense starting a panic among the Autobots by suggesting Megatron's progeny might walk among them. Nor did he want Gizmo to get the bright idea to search for this missing mech himself and take credit for it.

"What information do you have on them so far?"

"Parental spark-readings, and a date range during which they may have been sparked."

Gizmo nodded. "Okay, that's not as hopeless as I thought." He swiftly navigated a few more menus, then pulled up a database Sentinel had dismissed as useless. "There's still the possibility that the sparkling got picked up by slavers and sold off, or was killed in the crossfire… but if they were found alive, they probably ended up in a foundling home."

Sentinel grimaced. He knew all too well about THOSE homes - he'd been in one himself. His creators had been brutally offlined during the sacking of Tyger Pax, and he'd been plucked from the rubble and shipped off to an orphanage in Iacon shortly after. It hadn't been a terrible place, at least - and he'd met both Optimus and Elita-1 there, so at least he'd had friends - but he still didn't like to think too hard about his lowly origins. Future Magnuses weren't war orphans and foundlings, after all…

"What's the date range?" Gizmo asked.

Sentinel provided it, and Gizmo plugged the dates in. "Okay, here's a list of the different orphanages and foundling homes that were operating during those dates. And even better, most of them take spark-scans of the kids they take in. That means if you can get ahold of those records and cross-reference them with your parental spark-readings, you just might find a match!"

Excitement burned in his core, and Sentinel copied the information onto a datapad before pushing back from the console and hurrying out, leaving a stunned Gizmo to mutter a sheepish "you're welcome" in his wake. He had a lead… perhaps a shaky lead, but a lead nonetheless. If Megatron's spawn had been picked up by one of the foundling centers, then it would be a simple matter to determine their identity and track them down. If they hadn't… well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

He transformed the moment he left the Hall of Records and drove off. It was time to pay an official Elite Guard visit to his old home. It was close by, so might as well cross it off the list first and get it over with.


	3. Voice of Magnus

_Slag, I wish Prowl were here,_ Bumblebee thought as he wormed his way deeper into the crevice where he'd taken refuge. _He'd have processor-over-mattered our way outta this in a nanoklik, or at least kicked afts and taken names. Hope he's enjoying his vacation, because we sure aren't._

This should have been a simple mission. Go to the island, check and see if the Dinobots were still there, ask Grimlock if he wanted to go to Cybertron, and hurry back to the mainland once Grimlock told them to slag off. It should have taken them an hour, two hours tops, and they could go back to helping to pack up the base and driving Ratchet up the wall. And on the slim chance that Grimlock actually agreed to go back with them, they could have brought back some help. Hauling all their junk to the new base by Sumdac Tower would go much more smoothly with three extra pairs of arms, right?

He should have known by now that things could never go smoothly for the Autobots on this dirtball. Yes, the Dinobots were still here… and so were three of Starscream's obnoxious clones. And somehow they'd managed to talk the Dinobots into joining their side.

Bulkhead hunkered low behind a litter of fallen boulders, trying to work his bulk behind the barrier. His back kibble poked out from behind the rocks, and Bumblebee wanted to tell him to find a better hiding place… but he didn't dare speak aloud. Not with the Starscream wannabes and their new pets within audial-shot.

Voices rang through the tunnels of Meltdown's old base, and Bumblebee worked himself deeper into the crevice.

"You LOST them?!" a shrill, oddly accented voice demanded - Slipstream, Starscream's female clone. "One's bright yellow and the other's the size of Grimlock's giant aft, and you LOST them?!"

"Me Grimlock's aft not giant!" came the indignant, gravelly reply - the aforementioned Grimlock.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" That voice sounded just like Starscream's, enough so that it sent chills up Bumblebee's spinal strut, but it shook with terror. "I almost had them, but they took off towards the old lab! That place is terrifying! Who knows what kind of horrible traps Meltdown and that spider creature left behind?"

"For Pit's sake," grumbled another Starscream-esque voice, this one more arrogant than frightened. "If you'd have sent _me_ after the Autobots, _I_ would have captured them effortlessly! _I'm_ not afraid of a silly human-built lab!"

"Enough yapping out of both of you," Slipstream snapped. "Thundercracker, take Skywarp and search the rest of the tunnels. Grimlock, take the Dinobots and search the forest. They couldn't have gone far."

"Yes, flier-lady!" Grimlock roared, and titanic footsteps thundered away.

"Ugh… such an inelegant lug," Thundercracker grumbled. "I don't understand why you let him moon after you like that."

"If he's on our side, I don't care, so long as he keeps his paws to himself," Slipstream replied. "Get moving. I'll check the lab. If you find those Autobots, use any means necessary to put them out of commission. We're NOT going to let them offline us like Starscream, or lock us up like Ramjet and Sunstorm."

"Who made _you_ our boss?" demanded Thundercracker. "If _I_ were in charge…"

"Oh, shut up and get moving," Slipstream ordered.

Bulkhead and Bumblebee exchanged a glance as footsteps trailed off. Neither dared speak aloud, but Bulkhead thumped the armor on his thigh with a blunt finger, tapping out a rapid series of clicks - a code, similar to the Morse Code of the humans. Autobots often resorted to it in situations when speaking aloud, even over their personal comms, was too risky, and Bumblebee had to admit that this was just such a situation.

Three quick taps, two slower. _Okay?_

Bumblebee responded with a tap to his forearm plating - three quick taps, two slow, then one more tap. _Okay for now._

Bulkhead nodded and tapped his thigh again - one tap, a pause, then three slow taps. _Is backup coming?_

Bumblebee responded with two slow taps. _Yes._ At least he hoped that was the right answer - he'd radioed Prime for backup before everything had gone to slag. And Prime was the most standup commander he'd ever had. There was no way he'd leave them to rust… right?

Three slow taps from Bulkhead, then three quick ones. _What do we do now?_

Two taps spaced about a second apart from Bumblebee, then two quick ones. _Wait._

Bulkhead huffed in frustration. Bumblebee couldn't blame him - just sitting and waiting was pure torture. He wanted to charge these stupid Starscream knockoffs and their Dinobot pets and kick their skidplates, or at least give them a faceful of stinger blasts. But even as headstrong and reckless as he could be, he knew he and Bulkhead didn't stand a chance against six opponents, especially ones as powerful as Decepticons and Dinobots.

 _C'mon, Prime, where are you?_ he thought, squirming further into the crevice. _Or did Ratchet make you leave me here? Is this my punishment for dropping his hydrospanner down the sewer grate? I told him I'd go down there and fetch it…_

Footsteps clumped down the tunnel, and he froze, wondering if his movements had made too much noise. If he'd managed to attract attention, he hoped it was at least the scaredy-cat clone. Perhaps he and Bulkhead could come up with some means of spooking him.

A shadow fell across the tunnel floor… and Bumblebee grinned widely. It was the wide-winged silhouette of a Seeker, and judging by the fact that the Seeker in question wasn't yakking up a storm about how much better he was at everything than his fellow knockoffs, it must be Skywarp. And while Skywarp was still formidable in a fight, Bumblebee figured that if they could spook him badly enough, it would enable them to overpower him without too much trouble.

He hurriedly tapped out a quick message to Bulkhead. _Strike on my signal._

Bulkhead looked unsure but tapped out a reply - three taps, then two. _Okay._

Bumblebee raised one hand and counted off on his fingers. _Three… two… one!_

And with that, he lunged out of the crevice… or tried to. He'd managed to jam himself in tightly enough that his attempt to leap at their attacker ended in a pained grunt and the grinding of rock on metal. He tried again, but with much the same result. Slaggit, he was stuck!

Bulkhead's lunge was much more effective, and he threw himself out of his hiding place with a bellow as he flung his wrecking-ball weapon at the intruder...

Only for a clawed hand to reach up and grab the projectile right out of the air. Bulkhead stared, mouth agape, at the mech he'd just tried to clobber - not the cowardly Seeker, but the silent and menacing Swoop. Even as he watched the Pterodactyl Dinobot flexed his claws, digging deep furrows in the wrecking ball before hurling it back at Bulkhead and knocking him over.

 _The slagger,_ Bumblebee thought, thrashing to work himself free of the crevice. _He kept his wings spread to look like one of the Seekers at first glance! I didn't think the Dinobots were that bright!_ Unless maybe Slipstream had told him to do that - the Dinobots weren't terribly intelligent, but they were certainly impressionable and would follow orders without question if they recognized someone as their commander.

"Hmph, not bad, Swoop," Thundercracker noted, stepping out from behind the slender Dinobot. "Though if _I_ had come across him first, he wouldn't be in any shape to get back up again."

Swoop gave Thundercracker a look of utter disdain before pulling out his weapon - a flail that looked as if it had been crafted from molten lava. Bulkhead's optics widened, and he scrambled backwards… only for his back to hit the tunnel wall.

"Bulky!" Bumblebee gave one last desperate lunge forward… and tore free of the fissure with the horrible screech of stripped paint and complaining metal. He staggered forward, stingers crackling to life, and scrambled to put himself between his friend and their two attackers.

"You lay a servo on him and I'll kick your afts clear to the Fringe territories!" he snapped.

Thundercracker and Swoop glared down at the yellow bot, and Bumblebee gulped. Perhaps this hadn't been the smartest course of action after all.

"Out of my exceptional spirit of generosity, Swoop, I'll let you take the big one," Thundercracker ordered, cracking his knuckles with a sinister grin. "I'll eliminate the little one."

"Oh slag," Bumblebee murmured, and he dismissed his stingers and grabbed Bulkhead's arm, trying to drag the green mech further down the tunnel. It was like trying to budge a mountain, and Bulkhead was too dazed from his earlier blow to be much help. Still, Bumblebee refused to abandon him… even if it meant both of them got scrapped.

Thundercracker raised his arms, guns thrumming with power… only to give a screech of pain as something slammed into him with enough force to bowl him over. Swoop squawked indignantly as he, too, was knocked aside. His flail whistled through the air, leaving a comet-trail of flames behind as he swung it at his attacker, but the vehicle swerved to the side, narrowly avoiding the weapon and running over Thundercracker in the process.

"OUCH!" The blue Seeker gripped his leg, snarling. "You'll pay for that, miserable Autobot!"

The crimson fire truck unfolded and planted himself between Bulkhead and the Decepticon-Dinobot attackers, battle-mask sliding in place and axe in his hands. Optimus Prime raised the weapon, the plasmatic blue edge illuminating the tunnel and gleaming in bright splashes from the armor of everyone present. His optics burned with anger - not the rage of battle, but the righteous anger of a hero sworn to protect his friends at all costs.

"Boy, am I glad to see you," Bulkhead moaned, sitting up and rubbing his dented helm.

"What took ya so long?" Bumblebee demanded, dropping Bulkhead's arm and dashing forward with stingers armed to join Prime's side.

"You're welcome," Optimus replied, and though his mask hid most of his features his optics glittered with a sort of resigned amusement. "We had to get past Grimlock and Snarl to get down here. Sorry to keep you waiting."

"Just glad you're here now," Bulkhead admitted as he climbed to his feet. "Let's kick their cans!"

Swoop let out a fearsome scream and lashed out with his flail. Bumblebee expected Optimus to block the blow with his axe, but instead he raised his arm and unleashed a spray of flame-retardant. The flail impacted against his chest… and promptly crumbled to ash, its molten heat dissipated by the foam spray.

Swoop stared at the handle of his weapon, as if unable to process what had just happened… and that moment was all the opening Bumblebee needed. He slammed his stinger-weapons together and fired a focused blast of electricity, and Swoop squalled as he fell to the tunnel floor, his chest plates smoking from the blow.

Thundercracker, meanwhile, had managed to stagger to his feet by this point. He snarled and raised his fists, taking a step forward… only to shriek and fall flat on his face. Optimus had fired his tow cable while the Seeker was distracted, tangling his legs and tripping him up.

"Cuff them quick," he ordered, tossing a pair of stasis cuffs at Bumblebee and another at Bulkhead. "Then we'll take them back to the surface."

"What about Slipstream and Skywarp?" asked Bumblebee as he fastened the cuffs around Swoop's wrists, ignoring the Dinobot's furious snarls.

Optimus retracted his mask and smiled. "They won't be troubling us. Ratchet lured them into one of the reformatting chambers in Blackarachnia's old lab and locked them in. He magnetized the door too, so they won't be getting out anytime soon."

Bumblebee winced, remembering what had happened to Wasp in that chamber. "Isn't that kinda harsh, boss-bot?"

"The chamber's disconnected from any power source," Optimus assured him. "They're just being held prisoner, not turned into technorganics or anything." His smile faded, and Bumblebee felt a quick pang of guilt for reminding him about his past… but the moment passed.

"Help me get these two to the surface," Optimus ordered. "Then we'll come back for the other two Seekers."

"What about the other two Dinobots?" asked Bulkhead.

"Big lugs took off into the woods," Ratchet huffed as he entered the tunnel. "Far as I'm concerned, we can just leave them there. I knew sending someone here to see if they wanted to join us was completely useless."

"At least we seem to have gotten an answer of sorts," Optimus pointed out. "And we apprehended the last of Starscream's clones in the process, so that's something. Let's get the clones back to base and let Cybertron know they can send a transport by to pick them up. We'll undo Swoop's cuffs before we leave."

"Uh, Prime, no offense, but… you got a death wish?" Bumblebee looked nervously at the Dinobot, who curled his lip and gave an irritated hiss at him.

"If the Dinobots want to stay on the island, we'll let them," Optimus replied. "That includes Swoop." He gave Swoop a long look, then recoiled as he hissed again and took a snap at his foot. "Though maybe we'd better loosen the cuffs and make sure we're a safe distance away before he works himself loose."

"Good plan, boss-bot," Bumblebee replied. "Let's get home."

"Yes, let's," Ratchet replied. "Because I just got a communique from Iacon. Prowl's online, and he wants to talk to us."

* * *

"I never thought I'd be saying this," Prowl noted, "but I miss the entire team. Even you, Bumblebee."

"Aww, didn't know you cared, ninja-bot," Bumblebee laughed.

Optimus couldn't keep the grin off his faceplate as he, Ratchet, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee gathered around the viewscreen to address their friend. Prowl was only visible from the shoulders up, lying on a medical berth that had been inclined to a sitting-up position. His armor still looked slightly grayed-out, as if he'd been left to fade in the sun for too long, and his voice sounded weaker and frailer than normal. And during the pauses in his side of the conversation they could hear the beeping and humming of medical machinery and the occasional bit of chatter from the medics and nurses on duty.

Prowl was still recovering from his brush with the Well of All Sparks… but he was alive. Optimus couldn't ask for a bigger miracle than that.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Any pain?"

"None, surprisingly," Prowl replied. "I still tire easily, but Pharma says that should pass with time."

"You don't have to drink that gross medicated energon they always have in hospitals, do you?" Bulkhead asked, grimacing.

Prowl chuckled softly. "If the choice is between falling back offline and drinking the medicated energon, I'm taking the energon," he replied. "But thank you for worrying about me."

"Have they figured out just how you managed to cheat death a second time?" Ratchet demanded. "First time was Sari's key, but THIS time… I don't even have a proper explanation. Though if there IS one, Perceptor's the best one to figure it out."

"They don't have a definite answer yet," Prowl admitted. "Perceptor thinks it could have been Master Yoketron's armor - it was designed by a master of processor over matter, and may have special safeguards built in to keep a spark online under circumstances that should be fatal."

Optimus frowned, reading the skepticism in Prowl's tone. "You don't think that's the right explanation, though."

Prowl shook his head. "I… I heard something when I fell offline that final time, before waking up on Cybertron. A voice that told me that my time hadn't come yet. First Aid tells me it must have been a hallucination, but… I think it was the Allspark itself."

Ratchet snorted, but Optimus only nodded in reply. They still didn't understand much about the Allspark, despite it being what gave so many Cybertronians life… and there were plenty of mechs out there who believed the artifact was sentient and capable of communication. If Prowl believed the Allspark had spoken to him and saved him from sure death, he was inclined to believe his words.

"You missed a killer fight down here," Bumblebee pointed out. "We caught us some Starscream clones! And a Dinobot too! Though Prime made us let him go… but still, it was awesome!"

"Yeah, awesome that you got stuck and Prime had to save our butts," Bulkhead pointed out.

"Hey, I'm the one telling the story here!" Bumblebee snapped.

Prowl gave a tired chuckle. "It sounds like a lot has been going on since I left. I'm sorry I couldn't be there to help you."

"You just focus on getting better, Prowl," Optimus advised. "There'll still be plenty to do here when you come back."

Prowl nodded. "I need to go here. First Aid is giving me that look, which means I've been sitting up for too long. Hopefully I'll be strong enough to talk more later."

"You take care of yourself," Ratched ordered, then raised his voice. "An' all you medics listening in on this make sure he RESTS! Even if you have to sit on him to do it!"

Someone offscreen laughed, and Prowl gave a little sigh and a smile as the screen went dark.

"Man, he MUST still not feel great if he doesn't comment on how obnoxious I am," Bumblebee noted.

"Or he just misses us," Ratchet replied. "You don't realize how much you miss someone, even their more annoying traits, until they're gone." He looked wistful a moment, but the expression vanished as the viewscreen flickered back to life. "Huh… somethin' he forgot to say?"

"Hey Prowl, you're back alread-" began Bulkhead, only to yelp as a far different visage materialized. The mech onscreen stared at him, mouth open with surprise, before resuming his usual stern expression.

Optimus felt his spark lurch in its chamber, and he forced himself to suppress a flood of emotion - shock, dread, even a spurt of anger - as he saluted the screen. "Ultra Magnus, sir."

The Magnus inclined his head. "At ease, Optimus Prime. This is not a disciplinary call."

Optimus lowered his hand, though he couldn't shake the dread that clutched at his spark. Ultra Magnus looked somewhat worse for wear than the last time he'd stood before him - his armor still bore a few dents and scrapes, and a metallic patch had been fastened over his left optic. But given what he'd heard about the Magnus' condition after Longarm Prime - or rather, Shockwave - had worked him over, it was a miracle of medical and repair work that he looked THIS good. Naturally, he refrained from saying that out loud.

Ultra Magnus gazed long and hard at the four Autobots, until Bulkhead started squirming where he stood and Bumblebee ducked behind a stack of crates to stay out of view. Then, to Optimus' utter shock, the Magnus smiled.

"Jazz and the Council have updated me on everything that happened while I was in medical stasis," he went on, his voice warming by a degree. "It appears, Optimus Prime, that I was wrong about you. Perhaps being a hero is in your programming after all. Well done."

The dread and anger drained away, and Optimus allowed himself a smile in return. "I only did what was necessary to protect Earth and Cybertron, sir. Anyone else would have done the same thing."

"Not everyone, Optimus," Magnus replied. "What you did took the sort of courage that we rarely see among even the upper ranks of the Autobots. In fact… in light of your actions, I think you're long overdue for a promotion."

Optimus felt a thrill pass through his frame. Was he saying…

"Optimus Prime, I would like to officially promote you to the Elite Guard." He seemed to read the shock on Optimus' faceplate, and he chuckled softly. "I know, I know, you were expelled from the Academy… but I think we can overlook the past in this instance. If you return to Cybertron at once, we will make the promotion official and assign a new leader to your team."

Optimus frowned, his joy at finally earning his place among the Guard dampened by the Magnus' words. "With all due respect, Ultra Magnus… I won't accept the promotion unless my entire team is promoted alongside me."

"What?!" Bumblebee squawked. "Did you slip a cog, Prime? What are you-"

Optimus raised a hand to silence the yellow warrior. "I appreciate the generous offer," he went on, "but these mechs have fought alongside me for a long time. I wouldn't be where I am now without them, and it would be an insult to their courage and abilities to leave them behind to make a name for myself. If you make me an Elite Guard, make all of them Elite Guards along with me… or let us continue our work as space bridge technicians."

Ultra Magnus shuttered his optic briefly, the only sign that Optimus' words might have stunned or upset him. "Very well," he replied, voice even. "We can discuss this when you next return to Cybertron. We'll be sending Rodimus Prime and his team to help you find the remaining Allspark fragments and any Decepticon fugitives who may still be at large."

"The help would be appreciated, sir," Optimus replied.

"And Ratchet… I would appreciate it if you bring my hammer back at your earliest convenience."

"Yessir," Ratchet replied, saluting.

The screen darkened again… and Bumblebee took that as his opportunity to lay into his leader.

"Are you nuts, Prime?" he demanded. "You got handed the Elite Guard sigil and you just turned it down!"

"I meant what I said," Optimus replied. "All of you played a part in taking down Megatron and his minions. You deserve the promotion just as much as me, if not more. If they refuse to make a place for you in the Elite Guard as well, then I refuse to be promoted."

"Prime, don't be stupid!" Ratchet snapped. "This is the chance of a lifetime! And the Elite Guard needs mechs like you! Not old fogeys or space bridge technicians! No offense, Bulkhead."

"None taken," Bulkhead replied. "Prime… are you serious? You want us to be in the Elite Guard with you?"

Optimus smiled. "We've been together for a long time, my friends. I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have at my side in a tight spot. And if staying a team means I turn down the promotion, then so be it."

Ratchet sighed and shook his head. "Young fools." Then he gave a rueful chuckle and patted Prime's arm. "It's been an honor serving alongside you, Prime. You're a good mech, and quite frankly, the Elite Guard could use a hundred mechs just like you."

"Oh, come on, Ratchet," Optimus muttered, his faceplates blazing with heat. "Okay, Autobots, enough standing around running our vocalizers. We still have a base to pack up."

* * *

Sentinel Prime had never imagined that he would come back here. When he had finally received his adult upgrade and left for the Academy, he had sworn he would never return to the place he had reluctantly called home for most of his sparkling years. And yet here he was, standing before the doors and trying to gather up the courage to enter the building. Fate seemed to have a sick sense of humor.

It wasn't that the Iacon Home for Wayward Sparklings had been a miserable place to grow up. Indeed, the femme who ran the establishment, a bulky brown-and-green femme named Digger, had looked fearsome but been a warm and nurturing bot at spark, and she took good care of her charges. And Sentinel had made close friendships here, friendships that had carried over to the Academy itself. But even the best memories of this place stuck in his craw, and the knowledge that he'd had such lowly beginnings made him recoil instinctively.

"Are we to be going in, Sentinel sir, or staring at the door some more?" asked Jetfire.

Sentinel turned to glare at the orange flier. "Are you going to follow orders, or ask more stupid questions?"

"It is not being a stupid question," Jetstorm pointed out. "We have been staring at the door for half a breem now. It is not being very interesting."

Sentinel rolled his optics. "Why Perceptor didn't think to program you two with a few more processor chips as well as flight capabilities, I'll never know." He raised a fist, ready to knock on the door…

Only for the door to slide open before he could so much as tap it. A towering, broad-shouldered femme stared down at him, the treads on her legs and the bladed shovel on her shoulders marking her alt mode of a bulldozer, a slitted mask obscuring most of her face. She stared down at Sentinel with the glower of a bot who brooked no nonsense from anyone she came across.

"The sign on the door says no soliciting," she informed him. "Unless you're the Cyber Scouts selling grease cookies."

"I'm here on official Elite Guard business, ma'am," Sentinel replied, drawing his shoulders back and raising his chin to best display the crest on his chestplate. "I need access to your information databases."

Digger stared at his chest. Then her gaze moved up to his face… and her optics lit up with a smile.

"Sentinel!" she cooed. "It's been ages! Look at you, all grown up now!" And to his intense embarrassment, she flung her arms around him in a crushing hug.

"Oof!" Sentinel squirmed, trying to writhe out of her grip. Back in his sparkling days Digger's hugs had been the best thing in the universe, especially to a frightened child who was still recovering from the shock of losing his parents. Now the embrace was utterly humiliating… especially in front of his subordinates.

"Oooh, are we getting hugs now?" Jetstorm squealed. "I am wanting hugs too!"

"Me too!" Jetfire exclaimed.

Digger laughed and set Sentinel back down. "If you fellas want hugs, I won't say no." She swept the twins up in her arms. "Are these your boys? They're fine strapping bots."

"No," Sentinel replied shortly. "I'm here on business, Digger. I need to see your archives, specifically the spark-scans of your incoming sparklings."

Digger laughed softly. "All business, I see. That's all right - we can always catch up later." She motioned for him to follow her. "This way. Mind the little ones, classes just ended and they're enjoying some free time before their evening refuel."

Sentinel followed her, the Jettwins trailing behind. He kept his gaze firmly ahead - letting his gaze wander about, taking in the hallways and the familiar doorways to classrooms and dormitories and washracks, only brought back a flood of memories he'd rather not dwell on too much. Yes, he had happy memories of this place - Digger's comforting presence, favorite teachers, his friendship with Elita and Optimus that had held strong until that fateful mission to the organic world where everything had changed forever…

But those memories just got in the way of what was important - finding Megatron's sparkling, and ensuring they could no longer endanger Cybertron. And standing around wallowing in old memories wouldn't help him with that mission. He would just go in, get the information he needed, and leave. Not stick around and dwell on the past.

Besides, this was only his first stop in a long list of foundling homes, orphanages, and similar facilities. The odds of him finding Megatron's spawn here were slim to non-existent. All the more reason to spend as little time here as possible.


	4. Allies and Discovery

Sumdac Tower was easily one of Detroit's most recognizable landmarks, and as the sun sank below the jagged horizon it seemed to gild the metal and glass of the tower in brilliant rose-gold. Lights began to flicker on within its interior, as if the tower were a nocturnal beast stirring from slumber with the coming night. By the time full darkness had claimed the city, it would be ablaze with light like a miniature sun of its own.

Optimus Prime's gaze rested not on the tower, however, but on what was slowly taking shape beneath it. The new Autobot Base, nearly complete by now, looked blocky and ungainly next to the sleek skyscraper, and the construction equipment and scraps of metal and concrete scattered about it did little to improve its appearance. But it would be several steps up from squatting in an abandoned factory, he thought… and would have facilities their old home sorely lacked, such as a fully functioning medical bay and a brig for containing Decepticon prisoners until they could be transferred to Cybertron.

Optimus smiled as a whistle sounded to signal the end of the workday, and he stepped forward to address the construction crews. The humans had done so much for them since they'd come to Earth, and had further proven their generosity by pitching in to help them build their new base. The very least he could do was thank them for their service.

"How did today go?" he asked one of the construction workers, a tall dark-skinned man who wore his hair in a plethora of braids beneath his protective helmet.

"Great!" the worker replied with a thumbs-up. "Things're going a lot faster with the new guys! We'll be done way ahead of schedule at this rate!"

"That's great to hear," Optimus replied. "Um… Scrapper and Mixmaster aren't giving you too much trouble, are they?"

"Nah, they behave themselves," he replied, pulling off his hard-hat to shake sweat out of his braids. "They've got kinda filthy senses of humor, but so do the rest of us, so they fit right in."

"Good… that's good to hear." The Constructicons had never fit in among the Autobots, their ways too crude and obnoxious for most of them to tolerate, but Bulkhead had been sure they were decent bots beneath their boorish exteriors. And he'd been right - it had simply been a matter of finding the right place for them, and the right companions.

"Thank you again for everything," Optimus told him. "Your efforts mean a lot to us."

"Our pleasure, sir." The worker gave an easy wave and walked off.

Optimus talked to a few more of the workers, thanking them for their service and wishing them a safe trip home. Then he looked up as a cement truck and an excavator pulled away from the base. He held out a hand, and with a grudging rumble of their engines the two vehicles ground to a halt.

"'Ey, we're on break!" Mixmaster grumbled. "The union'll hear 'bout this!"

"I'm not sending you back to work," Optimus told them. "I just wanted to thank you two for what you're doing for us. We're indebted to you."

"Aw shucks, boss, it ain't no problem," Scrapper replied, ducking his scoop shovel in embarrassment. "Just glad t' have jobs after the 'Cons went bust. Thanks for not lockin' us up with 'em, by the way."

"You're welcome." Optimus raised an optic ridge. "So… where exactly are you two planning on spending your night?"

"Off to th' gas station for drinks, then th' junkyard t' watch th' big game wit' th' buds," Mixmaster replied. "You gotta problem wit' that?"

"Of course not… just stay out of trouble, all right? See you here in the morning."

"Sure thing, boss!" Scrapper waved his shovel, and the two of them rumbled off into the night.

Optimus watched them go, sighing in relief. When he'd heard the reports that the Constructicons had turned back up in Detroit, he'd feared they would have another attempt to take over the city's oil supply on their hands. But evidently Mixmaster and Scrapper had had their fill of Dirt Boss's nasty attitude, and they came to the Autobots of their own free will with the diminutive Constructicon in chains. Dirt Boss was now cooling his heels in the brig, waiting for the next transport to Cybertron, and Bulkhead had put the other two to work helping build the base.

The roar of a powerful engine caught his attention, and he turned to watch a burgundy-and-gold muscle-car approach. The vehicle hit its brakes, smoke pluming from its tires as it executed a perfect 180 spin and came to rest at Optimus' side.

"Show-off," Optimus noted.

Rodimus Prime laughed and transformed, grinning brightly up at the taller mech. "Hey, what is it that Jazz likes to say? Do it with style or don't bother doing it?"

"Doing it with style is all well and good, so long as no one gets hurt," Optimus pointed out. "Just be careful. We're trying to do as little damage to the humans' infrastructure as we can."

Rodimus nodded, though he wore a reckless grin that reminded Optimus far too much of Sentinel during his wild and reckless younger days. He'd heard all the stories about this young mech - that he'd rocketed up through the ranks to become one of the youngest Primes in Cybertronian history, that he'd dazzled his mentors and commanders in the Academy, and that many had pegged him to become Magnus someday. And while Optimus wasn't entirely won over by the high praise, he had to admit that, despite his headstrong ways, he was certainly a brave and talented young mech who would achieve greatness someday.

 _Funny, didn't they used to say some of the same things about you in the Academy?_ a little voice in the back of his processor taunted. _Didn't you used to be their star student? Aren't you just a little jealous…_

He firmly squelched that train of thought before it could go any further. He was not going to harbor any resentment toward this young mech. They were both working towards the same cause, and he wouldn't subvert that cause by hanging onto jealousy. And if Rodimus rose through the ranks to become Magus someday… then so be it. He would support him the entire way.

"We didn't get a call for backup from your team, so I assume the mission was a success?" Optimus asked

"Well… partially." Rodimus rubbed the back of his head, grinning sheepishly. "We found all three of the rogue mechs we were looking for - the technorganics in the national park, the garbage truck in the city dump. But the truck gave us the slip, and we decided that since he's not actively doing damage to the city or the humans, he's not a high priority at the moment."

"Wreck-Gar's harmless," Optimus assured him. "He stopped by today and entertained the construction workers on their lunch break, playing an accordion and singing something about radioactive hamsters. We generally leave him to his own devices unless he starts spreading trash through the city again." He hesitated, then pressed on. "What about the other two?"

Rodimus grinned and rapped his chest plate, where a few deep scratches marred his otherwise-pristine paint job. "They put up a fight, but we got them. Ironhide and Brawn are hauling them into the brig as we speak."

Optimus nodded, though his optics clouded over as his gaze moved to the Autobot Base. His feelings towards Blackarachnia were still hopelessly muddled - he missed his old friend Elita-1, and knew some fragment of her still lived in the technorganic femme. But at the same time, he couldn't forgive Blackarachnia's crimes against Detroit, or the horror she had inflicted on Wasp.

At least, back on Cybertron, both she and Wasp could hopefully get the help that they needed. And if they were able to reverse the process that had twisted both of them, they could determine if there was any chance of saving his old friend. It was too late to patch up his friendship with Sentinel… he only hoped it wasn't too late to do the same with Elita-1.

"Sir?"

"Hmm?" He shook his head and returned his attention to Rodimus. "What is it?"

"I was just saying that it's an honor to be working with you," the young mech replied, grinning widely. "Team Athenia has done a lot in our time, but I never imagined we'd be coming here to team up with the hero of Cybertron!"

Optimus felt his faceplates heat up, and he waved the praise away. "I was only doing the right thing. I'm sure any mech in my situation would have done the same."

"Yeah, but… YOU were the mech in the situation," Rodimus pointed out. "And honestly, if I was standing up to the Great Slagmaker himself, I don't know if I would've had the bolts to go after him. What you did took a lot of courage… and I just hope I have half that courage the next time I have to charge into battle."

Optimus stared, his headfins twitching slightly. This rising star in the Elite Guard ranks, the mech everyone hailed as a chosen one of sorts and had marked as the next Magus, was praising and looking up to him? He wasn't sure whether to be honored or terrified, to be honest.

He searched his CPU for something to say in response, and settled for something he hoped didn't sound too cliche or arrogant. "Well, if this old-timer can give you a few words of wisdom… just remember that courage isn't the absence of fear. It's being afraid, but doing what has to be done despite that."

Rodimus nodded, his expression studious as he committed those words to his memory banks. "I'll remember that. In the meantime… once we get these technorganics locked up and secure, mind telling us a few more stories? Our entire team would love to hear more!"

Optimus laughed. "I'm sure we can obliged you. Meet you in the common room?"

"Sure thing." He snapped a salute. "Until all are one, sir."

"Don't call me sir," Optimus urged. "We're equals here."

"Yes si- Optimus." Rodimus chuckled and hurried off.

Optimus watched him go, smiling to himself. When Ultra Magnus had sent Team Athenia to Earth to help Optimus' crew round up the remaining Decepticons and Allspark-created mechanisms, he'd anticipated a clash of personalities between both teams. But to his pleasant surprise they'd meshed well, and settled in with minimum fuss. Red Alert and Ratchet had found common ground in grumbling about their patients, Bumblebee and Hot Shot got along like a house on fire, and Bulkhead found near-instant buddies in both Ironhide and Brawn.

And Rodimus, completely against Optimus' expectations, hadn't let his reputation as the "chosen one" go to his head. If anything, he looked up to Optimus as a hero… which Optimus found rather baffling, to be honest. He still didn't consider himself a hero - he'd just been in the right place at the right time, and done his best to protect his friends and the planet he'd come to love as much as Cybertron. Still… it felt good to have someone think of him that highly, and not as an Academy reject stuck on a remote backwater.

The sun continued to dip below the horizon, darkness spreading over the skies of Detroit like a bruise. Optimus watched the planet's star a little longer, then turned to head into the base. It had been a long day, and he was going to enjoy some much-needed rest before tackling whatever tomorrow chose to throw at him.

* * *

"I am getting you!"

The sparkling, a chubby violet-and-black mech with stubby yellow helm projections that looked almost like antennae, squealed with laughter as he bolted across the yard of the foundling home. Jetstorm chased after him, hands outstretched, running just fast enough to keep on the sparkling's heels. Other sparklings joined in the chase, veering away from the blue flier in all directions as he darted after one, then another, a wide smile splitting his face.

"You are being too slow, brother!" Jetfire shouted from beneath a pile of sparklings, who were dogpiling onto him and wrestling playfully with him. "Have you been eating rocks again?"

"It isn't being fun if I am catching him right away!" Jetstorm shot back, and made a grab for the black sparkling. His fingers latched briefly onto a winglet, but the mech shook him off and scurried away with a giggle.

"It is being more fun being caught by them!" Jetfire laughed, and he squirmed out from under the mass of sparklings. One clung to his back while two others wrapped themselves around his shins, and he laughed and lurched towards his brother, hauling his unlikely passengers along with him. "I'll be helping you catch them!"

"Will you idiots SHUT UP?!" Sentinel barked, looking up from the portable computer unit balanced in his lap. "I'm trying to do some actual work on our mission here!"

Both twins screeched to a halt and turned to stare at Sentinel, Jetfire with three sparklings still hanging from his chassis. They exchanged a long look, torn between their strong loyalties towards the Prime and their desire to enjoy time with their newfound playmates.

"Why'd you stop?" the black sparkling demanded, turning to stare at Jetstorm. "We were having fun!"

"Sentinel is saying we need to stop," Jetstorm replied, as if the answer were blindingly obvious.

"Who cares what the grumpy guy says?" the pink-and-white sparkling clinging to Jetfire's left leg insisted. "Keep playing!"

Jetfire laughed and patted her helm. "I am liking this one's answer! Brother, are you still being it?"

"I am!" Jetstorm replied, grinning brightly. "You better be running, brother!"

Jetfire squealed in mock terror and shuffled off as fast as the sparklings clutching his legs would allow. Jetstorm took off again, and more laughter and shouting filled the yard.

Sentinel growled. "I thought I told you lugnuts to-"

"Oh, let them have their fun," Digger told him, handing him another data chip. "The kids enjoy seeing a fresh face or two. And just because you get upgraded to adult form doesn't mean you can't indulge in a little play now and again."

"We came here to search for records, not goof off," he muttered. "And those two are supposed to be on lookout duty while I work, not distracting me."

"You know, we DO have an office you can borrow," the brown-and-green femme noted with a chuckle. "You can take your work in there and not be distracted. Though you always were happiest when you had something to complain about, weren't you?"

Sentinel rolled his optics and plugged the data chip in, scrolling through yet another folder of spark readouts. He was already thoroughly sick of combing through these files, scrutinizing spark-scans and comparing them to Megatron's. And to think he had twenty more facilities to visit and go through the exact same tedium… and there he wouldn't have the advantage of knowing the mechs in charge, and would probably have to flex his authority to look at the files in question.

 _Though the twins'll probably enjoy it,_ he groused, wincing as Jetfire and a pack of sparklings rolled towards his feet in what looked for all the world like a tickle war. _For all their training and expertise, they're just overgrown kids themselves. They'd love the chance to wrangle twenty more packs of the little brats. Maybe next time I WILL hole myself up in an office and let them use up their extra energy on the scraplets…_

"Okay, okay, I am surrendering now!" Jetfire shouted, throwing his arms up. "I am defeated! Bleh!" His head rolled back, glossa hanging out and optics shuttering as he feigned shutting down.

"You're not REALLY dead!" the pink-and-white femme giggled… a giggle that faded as she poked lightly at the orange flier's chest. "Are you?"

"I am assuring you I am dead," Jetfire replied, not opening his optics. "If I were not being dead, I would be doing THIS!" And he sat up and wriggled his fingers, prompting the sparklings to run away shrieking in all directions.

"Jetfire, I am TRYING to work here!" Sentinel growled.

"And I am being hard at work too!" Jetfire assured him, getting to his feet and brushing dust off his armor. "Hard at work keeping the sparklings from bothering my boss!" He giggled and trotted off.

Sentinel rolled his optics and kept scrolling through the readouts. The sooner he finished scanning all these records, the sooner he could leave this place. Get it over with, say his goodbyes to Digger, and never walk through these doors again.

It wasn't just the twins and their sparkling playmates that were getting on his tactical sensors - being here dredged up too many memories. Not all of them were bad memories, to be honest - he remembered his friendships among the other sparklings fondly, and it had been a far better life than scraping for survival on the streets or ending up in the hands of slavers. But he still hated thinking too much about his lowly origins… or the horrific events that had landed him in Digger's care in the first place.

When he'd first arrived at the foundling home, a tiny blue sparkling still bearing the dents and scuffs of the Tyger Pax raid that had killed his creators, he'd been so traumatized by the disaster that he hadn't spoken for over a quatrex. He'd spent the first decacycle or so curled up in a corner, refusing to move or speak. Not even hunger had budged him, and he might have shut down entirely from energon deprivation had Digger not intervened.

Digger had been incredibly patient with all the sparklings in her care, and she had been gentle with him despite his refusal to cooperate. She had coaxed him to take a little fuel now and again, and taken the time to speak softly to him and assure him he was somewhere safe. It was okay to miss his parents, even okay to feel scared and lost, but she hoped he would feel secure here.

He even owed his name to her, oddly enough. His willful muteness had included refusing to answer any questions, even a request for his name, so Digger had eventually come to calling him Sentinel. "Because when you finally came out of your corner you would watch the rest of the sparklings at play so solemnly, like a little guard," she had explained. "Like a sentinel."

It had been Digger's gentle coaxing that had finally pried him out of his corner… but it had been Optimus who had finally urged him to break his silence. The red-and-silver sparkling had approached him in the play yard and invited him to join him and another sparkling - Elita-1 - in their play. And while Sentinel had been wary of this friendly, talkative mech at first, he'd quickly warmed up to him… enough to finally smile and even laugh, and to seek him out in the play yard whenever they had a break from their lessons.

From there, a strong friendship had been forged. Once Sentinel overcame his shyness and started speaking again he assumed his place as commander of their little group, leading them in play-yard games and midnight raids on Digger's snack stashes, and other escapades. Optimus had settled in as a sort of second-in-command and voice of reason, trying to temper some of Sentinel's wilder schemes, while Elita-1 alternated between playing peacekeeper between them and just standing back and watching them bicker with amusement.

 _Those were simple days,_ he mused. _We were so ignorant of how the world outside the foundling home worked - we thought friendships lasted forever, that we would go on to become heroes of Cybertron, that we were a trio of shooting stars and nothing would stop us. How naive we were… but then, we were happy, too. If only…_

Sentinel realized he'd been smiling wistfully, and he shook his head with a scowl before returning to his computer. Enough steel-wool-gathering. Elita-1 was dead - he refused to think of that Blackarachnia abomination as her - and his and Optimus' friendship was broken beyond repair at this point. Those days were far in the past, and there was no use dragging them out and moping over them.

He opened another folder and began swiping through the spark scans… and froze. There it was. The fifth scan in this particular folder bore a distinctive pattern in its energy waves, one that looked all too familiar. And pulling up the copy of Megatron's spark scan confirmed it - this was a match. Not an exact match, but so incredibly close that it couldn't be mere coincidence.

 _I can't have found them already,_ Sentinel thought, even as his own spark fluttered with excitement. _This is too easy, it's got to be a fluke… but no, the fluctuations of energy are too distinctive. Everything matches up. This spark definitely came from Megatron's life force._

Sentinel let out a whoop and threw both fists into the air… and Jetstorm, Jetfire, and the sparklings whooped along with him, having no idea what he was so happy about but celebrating on his behalf anyhow. Sentinel glared and lowered his hands, but his irritation was quickly snuffed by the glow of triumph in his spark. This was a victory, and he'd be fragged if he was going to let a bunch of fresh-faced kids dampen his joy.

He clicked on the spark readout again, checking for pertinent information. He'd need a name, or at least a date. Something he could use to track this mech or femme down…

His smile vanished, and his spark chilled from triumphant fire to cold dread in an instant. There was a name, all right… the last name he'd expected to see attached to this spark readout. Digits shaking, he closed the file, then reopened it to be sure. There it was - the spark readout, so closely matching Megatron's, and the name emblazoned across its records clear as day.

 _It can't be. There's got to be a mistake. Someone glitched and put the wrong name on this readout, or stuck it on as a prank._ Even as that thought popped into his CPU, however, he dismissed it. Digger was meticulous in keeping her records, and even her rowdiest sparklings knew better than to dig around in her office or mess with her files.

The computer unit started to slide out of his lap, and he scrambled to catch it before it could hit the ground, CPU still whirling in shock. His first instinct was to delete this information and pretend he'd never seen it in the first place. The Council would never believe him, and he had no desire to make himself a laughingstock again.

 _That's not the only reason,_ a quiet voice in the back of his processor insisted. _As much as you want to deny it, you don't want anything bad to happen to him. He's still..._

He snapped the computer unit shut, shoving that voice down before it could say more. "Jetstorm, Jetfire, we're done here! Let's go!"

"Awwwww!" Jetfire had gripped a sparkling by her arms and was spinning her giddily about, warrior and femme shrieking in delight, but he whined and set her down. "But we are having fun!"

"Your job is to follow orders, not goof around!" Sentinel snapped. "Let's go!"

Jetstorm and Jetfire both pouted, but they were accustomed to following orders by now and hurried after Sentinel as he stormed for the exit. Digger moved to intercept them, hands out for what he assumed was a goodbye hug, but he sidestepped around her and hurried out, transforming and screeching away as soon as he hit the street.

As much power as he poured into his engine, though, he couldn't outrun the truth. The name he'd seen on that spark record was still emblazoned in his CPU.

 _Optimus._ His old friend, the academy dropout turned space bridge worker, current hero of Cybertron… Optimus Prime was the son of Megatron.


	5. Lost and Found

CLANG

Megatron roused, blinking his optic shutters in an effort to focus his vision. Pain and lack of energy made what should have been a basic function a task of herculean effort - he barely had the strength to raise his head, let alone focus his attention on what was going on. He hadn't refueled properly since his capture, and his captors seemed to take a perverse delight in denying him rations. Part of a long-term plan to keep him too weak to plot an escape, or just the Autobots' way of exacting revenge for his crimes?

His vision cleared in time to give him a glimpse of a bronze-armored form being dragged past his cell. The mech's hands were cuffed before him, and wide violet optics gleamed with panic over the vocalizer lock that had been fastened over his mouth. His gaze met Megatron's for a brief moment, and a brief flash of shock - and disappointment - crossed what was visible of his faceplate before he was hauled out of sight.

 _Swindle… so he finally found a situation he couldn't bribe or smooth-talk his way out of._ At this rate, all his remaining Decepticons were going to be hunted down and locked away. So much for his glorious revolution.

A wave of dizziness swept through him, and his head tipped forward, helm resting against the transparent cell door as he tried to recover. This wasn't how he had wanted it to end. If he had to be offlined, he'd wanted it to be in battle, for the cause or defending his throne. Not wasting away, starving in the bowels of a prison, utterly forgotten by all.

A face materialized in his CPU… a face that had been haunting him repeatedly since his capture. His son… the mech he should have protected with his very spark… the one mech who would have ensured he was never forgotten, had he survived to adulthood…

_Blaster fire searing through his shoulder, sending a blaze of pain down his arm… roaring his rage as he whipped around to fire at his attacker… the pirates swarming his ship, heedless of their own losses as they sought to capture the ultimate prize… Megatron himself…_

_He fought like a wild mechanimal, emptying the energy clip of his arm cannon into the mob, then drawing his sword once the clip had been drained. Energon and oil arced through the air in glittering spirals as his blade met alloy, slicing his attackers apart. For every one he felled, two more seemed to take their place, but he refused to back down…_

" _Zere are too many of them, Herr Megatron!" Blitzwing shouted, firing his ice cannons to form a temporary but welcome barrier between them and the horde._

" _Take the sparkling and get him to an escape pod!" Megatron ordered. "NOW!"_

" _Ja, Herr Megatron!" Blitzwing saluted and turned to go… only to be struck in the chest and sent flying into the wall. The ice wall shattered, and the pirates surged forward…_

_A high-pitched scream cut through the sound of raging battle, and Megatron's spark clenched in horror as two pirates fled the bridge, one of them carrying a tiny form…_

" _NO!" He grabbed the pirate directly in front of him and tore his cranial unit from his shoulders, then flung the chassis into the mob as a distraction. He surged through the stunned pirates, the few who dared remain in his path being slashed brutally aside by his sword. They might take his ship or his troops or even his life… but he would NOT let them take his son!_

" _Creator!" The sparklings cry rang through the corridors of the ship as his captors fled. "Creatorrrrrrrr!"_

" _I'm coming!" Megatron roared, pouring as much energy as he could into his leg servos. "Hold on!"_

_He burst into the hangar an instant too late - a blast of thrusters shoved him back, and he could only watch as the shuttle tore out of the bay doors and vanished into the stars._

_His roar of anguish seemed to shake the entire ship, an unholy scream of grief and horror and rage. Only later would he dimly recall laying waste to the pirates that had invaded his ship, leaving the halls spattered in their fluids. In that moment, only the pain of having the one thing he valued above his own life ripped away from him…_

Someone - Lugnut from the intensity of the blow - slammed into the wall of their cell, jolting Megatron out of his thoughts. He shuddered and forced himself to stay in the present, to not sink into the memories again. Which was worse - being trapped in an agonizing present, or sinking into painful memories? At the moment, he wasn't sure.

 _I swore I would find you, little one,_ he thought, his vision going hazy again. _I failed you… I hope, wherever your spark is now, you can forgive me for my failure..._

* * *

Once Starscream had schemed to rule not just the Decepticons, but all of Cybertronian-kind. His lofty aspirations and plots against Megatron had created no small amount of headaches for both the Decepticons and the Autobots, and had not only resulted in him unleashing his clones on both factions but gaining an immortality of sorts thanks to a fragment of the Allspark. He had been one of the most formidable and dangerous Decepticons, slippery and cunning, a warrior that seemingly nothing could defeat for good.

Evidently even the former Air Commander's wings could be clipped. And even immortality was a gift that could be ripped away without warning.

Wreck-Gar's usual bouncy step evened out to a more steady walk as he approached the makeshift bier, clutching a bunch of flowering trees in his hands. He'd been whistling a cheery tune as he picked his way through the heaps of junk and detritus that made up his home, but the whistling mellowed out to something more somber the closer he got. By the time he reached the bier, where the winged chassis lay in state, he had gone entirely silent.

Starscream had gone gray with death, optics dark, a ragged tear in his forehead marking where the Allspark fragment had been ripped away by Prowl and Jazz's efforts to reassemble the fragments. He lay on the slab of crushed cars that made up his resting place, hands folded over his chest, the grime and dirt carefully cleaned from his plating. Small tokens scavenged from the landfill - ragged stuffed animals, cracked mirrors, chipped statues, scraps of metal twisted into ornate shapes - ringed the base of the bier, and the wilted remains of flowers drooped about the chassis itself. Perhaps it was a cheap mockery of a proper funeral service, but it was the best the junkyard mech knew how to do, and that was what counted.

Wreck-Gar carefully cleared away the old flowers, then arranged the blooming cherry trees in their place. Had he known just how he had been given life in the first place, perhaps he might have understood just how lucky he'd been to avoid a similar fate. As it was, finding the chassis during his wanderings of Detroit, collecting any interesting junk and rubble that had been left behind in the wake of the battle, had given him a queer pang in his internals. He'd seldom encountered death in his short life, and faced with the demise of a fellow sentient machine bothered him on a level he couldn't quite identify.

Despite not having the least clue who this mech was, however, he was determined to do right by him. And if that meant converting a corner of the landfill he called home into a memorial site, then so be it.

When the flowers had been arranged this liking, Wreck-Gar took a step back and pulled a harmonica from his pack. Holding the instrument delicately between his thumb and forefinger, he played through a rough rendition of "Taps" before speaking.

"Ladies, gentlemen, pigeons, seagulls, rats, raccoons, and vagrants digging for recyclables - y'all know who you are - we are gathered here today to pay our respects to What's-His-Face, the Lord of the Chins, He Who Kinda Looks Like an Airplane If You Squint Right. We honor the memories we have of… um, dragging him down the streets of Detroit, and… uh, chasing stray cats out of his cockpit, I guess. We don't know who you were, O Winged One, but you must have been someone legendary, and for that we salute you!"

Wreck-Gar gave a solemn salute. The various creatures that called the dump home continued to peck and paw for scraps, ignoring the ceremony.

"And to show our gratitude towards you for… uh, existing and giving us something to do here besides count flies, we present you with this token! Accept it with our thanks."

And Wreck-Gar opened a panel on his chest and rummaged around until he pulled out a glittering shard. He had found the gleaming object in his chest one day while trying to chase a stubborn opposum out of his internals, and tugging on it had left him feeling lightheaded enough that he hadn't tried to remove it since. But he'd been able to pry off a sliver of it… and somehow, bestowing such a shiny, beautiful object upon his fallen comrade felt like a fitting tribute.

He set the shard down on Starscream's forehead, right in a small niche that seemed perfectly suited to hold such a fragment, then saluted one more time before walking off.

He never witnessed what came next. The shard glittered in the sunlight… then shone with a blazing brilliance before sinking into the metal. The dull alloy began to shift, brightening to silver and maroon - faded, but still a far cry from the deathly gray of before. A soft hum emanated from his internals, like the thrum of a computer booting itself up.

Starscream's optics flickered as his systems slowly fought their way back online… then blazed with crimson light.

 _What… what just happened? Where am I? What…_ He scrambled to recall just what had happened. The last thing he remembered was flying over Detroit, and something yanking the Allspark fragment from his head…

 _I was dead… again. But not anymore._ To another mech, realizing that they had been resurrected from the Well of All Sparks might have sent them straight into a breakdown. But Starscream had been offlined so many times and returned without anything worse than a few dents and stung pride that such an event was just another lousy day of the decacycle.

_Well now… I'm back. And this time… I'm here to stay._

He allowed himself a smile as his systems continued to power up… and growled in frustration as they stalled. A quick check of his damage readout made him wince - his fuel tanks were nearly dry, and months spent in a junkyard with animals crawling through his internals and dirt and moisture settling into his joints and components had wreaked extensive damage. He had managed to cheat death once again… but without the energy to bring himself fully online and with his chassis and circuits riddled with exposure damage, he was immobile, almost worse than dead.

_Ugh… why does the universe HATE me? Why can't Megatron suffer a setback like this every once in awhile? But no, that mech has probably destroyed that wretched human city and returned to Cybertron already, remaking it in his own image. Whereas I'm reduced to rusting for eternity in this scrapheap… wherever this scrapheap happens to be..._

Any further grousing was cut short as his CPU, in an effort to conserve energy, threw him into emergency stasis. Its last action before falling into hibernation itself was to fire off an SOS, calling for help. But not a general-broadcast message - this one was coded to reach anyone who shared spark programming with the fallen Seeker, be it creators or co-creations or offspring.

In the newly constructed brig of the Detroit Autobot Base and in the high-security detention level in Kalis, five cloned Seekers began to shift restlessly against their bonds, throwing themselves against the walls of their cells. None of them could quite put their digits on what was making them so restless, but they felt the urge to break free and fly far, fly fast, towards a destination none of them were quite certain of but that they knew they needed to reach soon.

In Iacon, two other mechs felt the call. And unlike Starscream's clones, they weren't confined by walls and cuffs…

* * *

"Sentinel Prime, sir!"

Sentinel was in his office, gazing out the window at the Iacon skyline, when that voice jarred him out of his thoughts. A scowl overtook the troubled expression on his faceplate, and he turned to glare at the speaker hovering in the doorway.

"I thought I told you two numb-units to not disturb me!"

Jetstorm cringed at the rebuke, but Jetfire seemed unperturbed. The orange flier stepped into the office, disregarding his superior officer's glower.

"Sentinel Prime, sir, my brother and I are receiving a distress call."

"Then go answer it," Sentinel snapped.

"But sir," Jetstorm put in, raising a questioning finger. "We are not knowing who is giving the call."

Sentinel gusted a sigh. Did he have to do ALL the thinking for these tin-foil-brained rookies? "Where's it originating from?"

"From Earth, Sentinel Prime sir."

 _Probably Jazz or one of Rodimus Prime's crew,_ Sentinel thought - there was no way in Pit any of Optimus' crew would be hailing anyone on Cybertron, especially one of Sentinel's team. "Answer it, then."

"Are you being sure-" began Jetfire.

"Did I stutter?!" Sentinel snapped. "Go already!"

"Yessir!" The twins saluted and darted off.

Sentinel growled softly and turned back to the window to brood. As much as he enjoyed the twins' unswerving loyalty and admiration, they got on his sensory nodes all too often. And at the moment, their presence was just a distraction. If they wanted to respond to this mysterious signal, let them. They were big bots and could take care of themselves.

He paced his office, tapping his chin with one hand, occasionally shooting glances at the computer screen as he passed it. The image of Optimus Prime's spark scan, its wavelengths so closely matching Megatron's, still lurked there, plain as day. It almost seemed to taunt him every time he walked by, mocking him for his cowardice.

 _I'm not a coward!_ he thought fiercely. _I'm going to report this to Ultra Magnus and the Council. I just need a moment to process what I've found…_

 _Coward,_ the image seemed to sneer in his head. _Coward… you don't have the bolts… you don't dare…_

 _I do dare! Just watch me!_ But every time he opened his comm link to make the call or took a step towards the door to report in person, he froze. Somehow, despite every sensible thought screaming for him to alert a higher authority that the Autobot forces had a Decepticon spawnling in their midst, he was hesitant to do so.

 _Optimus…_ He didn't like the mech, and their friendship had soured vorns ago after that fateful encounter that had cost Elita-1 her life. But he still remembered the mech's easy smile, his caring nature, his complete lack of ego, his awkwardness that somehow made him endearing and even cute at times. Sure, he might be a pain in the aft and a bit too snarky at times, but when he fought, he fought with all his spark and strength, always willing to put his own spark on the line in defense of others.

In short, he was the last mech Sentinel would ever have pegged as the offspring of the most notorious criminal in Cybertron's history. And the very thought of reporting to the Council that the hero of Cybertron was Megatron's creation made him balk.

 _It's not because you still care about him,_ he decided. _It can't be that. He hates you, and you hate him back, right? No, it's because if you break it to them that their precious hero is the son of a dangerous criminal, YOU'LL be the bad guy for it. Your name's already slag with them, why make it worse?_

 _Keep telling yourself that,_ a voice nagged in the back of his processor. He squashed it ruthlessly and kept pacing. Slaggit, he'd never been this conflicted about a mission before… but then, he'd never had a mission that entailed betraying a former friend.

He'd just made for the door a seventh time when his comm unit pinged. He vented out air in a half-sigh, half-snarl as he took the call. If this was the twins pestering him to come with them on their half-baked mission…

"This had better be good," he growled out, hoping his tone got across that he didn't want to be trifled with.

_As respectful of authority as ever, I see, Sentinel._

Sentinel squeaked, and only intense self-discipline kept him from voiding his oil tanks on the spot in sheer panic. "U-Ultra Magnus, sir! M-m-my most profound apologies…"

_Apologies are not necessary, Sentinel Prime. It seems I owe you thanks for holding the Magnus seat during my absence… as well as undertaking a mission on behalf of the Council._

Sentinel made to sit down… only to miss his chair and land on his aft on the floor. He barely registered the shock of the impact. "Y-yes sir."

_I never imagined we would be seeking out the progeny of Megatron… but we live in a strange galaxy, don't we?_

"Yes, sir."

_Do you have an update on your mission?_

He gulped and scrambled to his feet. "Yes, sir."

_Then give it. And I do hope it's more illuminating than a simple "yes, sir."_

"Yes, sir- I mean…" He hesitated a moment, grappling with himself, his long-entrenched habit of following all orders to the letter at war with his horror at betraying the hero of Cybertron. He couldn't… but he had to… but surely an old friendship still meant something… but was an old friendship worth offending his superiors...

_...well? We're waiting, Sentinel._

Had Ultra Magnus stayed silent, Sentinel just might have ended the call then and there. But the Magnus' voice reminded him that he had been given orders… and defying orders came with terrible consequences. He would obey - there was no alternative.

"I'm sending you the pertinent files as we speak," he replied, and went to his computer and punched the _Send_ command. The image of the side-by-side comparisons of Optimus Prime and Megatron's sparks folded in on itself as the file was compressed, then shot off through Cybertron's holonet to reach the Magnus.

_Files received. Give me a moment to open this… no. It can't be..._

Sentinel forced himself to sit down, this time in his chair. It was done. He'd accomplished what the Council had sent him to do. But why did success feel so much like failure at the moment?

* * *

"Hah!" Hot Shot hooted, tossing the controller to the floor and standing up to do a hip-swinging victory dance. "Third race in a row! Who's the champ? I'm the champ!"

"That wasn't fair!" Bumblebee retorted. "It's bad form to use your power-ups when you're already that far ahead! I demand a rematch!"

"Hey, if I wasn't supposed to use power-ups, the game shouldn't have given me any," Hot Shot replied with a grin. "But I'll take ya up on that rematch anyhow."

Bumblebee's scowl morphed into a grin, and he picked up the controller and handed it back. "I'll beat your skidplate clear to Cybertron this time, Hot Pants."

"That's what you said the last three races, but my skidplate's still firmly attached."

"Well, get ready to kiss it goodbye." Bumblebee started up the next race, and the two young bots hunched over their controllers in concentration.

"Fraggin' turbo-revvin' young punks and their video games," Ratchet grumbled, folding his arms over his chest. "I'll never understand this younger generation."

"Neither will I," Red Alert confessed. "But at least Hot Shot hasn't set the couch on fire again, so it's not as bad as it could be."

It was the Autobots' first evening in their newly completed base, and they were enjoying a night to relax and unwind after weeks of overseeing construction, rounding up rogue mechs and Decepticons, and scouring Detroit for stray Allspark fragments. The younger mechs had commandeered the viewscreen for video games, while Prowl and Jazz flipped through the former's collection of holo-photos of the natural scenery outside of the city. Ironhide showed Brawn and Bulkhead how to mix fuel blends "to put Maccadam's Oilhouse to shame." Ratchet and Red Alert alternated between sharing gossip about their various patients over the years and critiquing Ironhide's attempts and mixing drinks, and Rodimus had crouched down to talk to Professor Sumdac, fascinated by this planet's organic natives and the stories the inventor had to share.

Optimus Prime, for his part, mostly hung back and watched, drinking from his own cup of a simple blend Ratchet had fixed for him personally. It was good to not only have their own team back together, but to find comrades they got along with nicely. His crew had been on Earth long enough that he worried they'd forgotten how to get along with fellow Cybertronians, but unless Team Athenia's time spent in space had left them a little off-kilter in the CPU as well, apparently they hadn't entirely lost the knack.

His gaze rested on Prowl, and he smiled as the mech pointed out a photo of a beaver dam he'd discovered during one of his forest excursions. This wasn't just a night to relax and hang out with Rodimus' team - it was a welcome-home party for Prowl, who had finally been cleared to leave the medical facility on Cybertron and rejoin them on Earth. Pharma and the other medics were still scratching their heads over just how the cyber-ninja had managed to survive his heroic sacrifice, but Optimus didn't question it too much. He was just glad to have his old friend back.

His gaze drifted to the barrel that served him as a makeshift fuel glass, and he idly swirled the contents. He should be happy, he knew - their team was complete again, and they'd made great strides in their mission on this planet. All was well… so why did he feel so unsettled? Why couldn't he just relax and an enjoy an evening off in the company of friends and comrades?

 _The memories,_ he decided. They'd been coming back more frequently, rising to the surface of his CPU to surprise him at the most inopportune times. Strange… he hadn't dwelled on them in vorns, not since coming to Earth and getting pulled into the first actual battle of his life…

_Gunfire and screams of pain filled his young audials, and he hunched down behind an offline mech and clapped his hands to the sides of his helm. His whimpers of terror were drowned out by the pitched battle raging around him, and he barely heard his father's voice over the bedlam._

" _Take the sparkling and get him to an escape pod! Now!"_

_Hands snatched him, and for a moment he felt a rush of relief… but the mech who had grabbed him was not one of his father's soldiers. It was a stranger, a patch over one optic and a cruel light gleaming in the other. A scream of horror ripped from his vocalizer as the mech flung him over one shoulder and ran, leaving his father and the fighting far behind…_

"OPTIMUS!"

"Huh?" Optimus shook his head. "What… sorry, I missed what you said, Ironhide. Can you repeat it?"

"I asked are we ever gonna do anything about them Dinobots?" the red mech repeated. "Just leavin' 'em to tromp 'round on that island don't sit well with me."

"Our policy towards the Dinobots will be the same as our policy towards Wreck-Gar," Optimus replied. "Unless they're a direct danger towards humans or Autobots, we leave them be. And since they seem content to stay on their island and defend it themselves, we won't interfere."

"I have a feeling we may regret that, Prime sir," Prowl noted, looking up from his holoprojector. "The Dinobots aren't the most reasonable individuals."

"All the same… we'll leave them be for now," Optimus told him. "If they show signs of aggression towards humans, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But honestly, I don't think it will come to that."

Prowl nodded. "I hope you're right. After everything we've been through on this planet, it will be a relief to finally have a period of extended peace and quiet here."

"Don't start THAT, kid!" Ratchet snapped. "That's just invitin' trouble!"

"Don't tell me you're superstitious, Ratchet!" Bumblebee piped up, looking away from his game for a moment - a moment that earned a squeal of outrage as Hot Shot took advantage of his distraction to nudge his racer ahead and win the match.

"C'mon, it's practically a scientific principle," Ratchet retorted. "The surest way to make sure somethin' terrible happens is to make a remark along the lines of 'wow, it's real quiet here, ain't it?'"

"I didn't say anything remotely close to that," Prowl insisted.

"C'mon, everyone, let's not argue," Bulkhead insisted. "We're supposed to be having fun, right?"

"The big guy's right," Ironhide replied. "Let's focus on the happy, a'right?"

"Indeed." Optimus raised his glass. "To good friends, old and new! And to a world finally safe from the Decepticons… and the return of a friend we'd thought lost. It's good to have you back, Prowl."

Prowl gave a slight smile. "It's good to be back-"

The rest of Prowl's sentence was drowned out by the chime of Prime's comm unit, and he touched the side of his helm. _Optimus Prime reporting._

_Optimus, this is Ultra Magnus. Report to Iacon immediately._

Optimus frowned. There was something he didn't like about the Magnus' tone - he always sounded stern and commanding, but his voice over the comm was clipped, almost hostile. Had something happened back home? Had one of the Decepticons escaped prison, or had some Decepticon sympathizer attacked the Magnus or the Council?

 _I'm on my way,_ he replied. _Give me just a few moments to round up my team-_

 _Come alone,_ Magnus replied sharply. _That's an order._

_Sir-_

_That is an_ order. _One more word and I'll send an armed guard to escort you here._

THAT sent a chill through Optimus' core. The last time he'd heard that much ice in Ultra Magnus' voice, he was being expelled from the Academy. What had he done? Was he to be punished for using the Magnus' hammer without his permission? Or had Sentinel decided to scrape together some spurious charge to discredit him? That, sadly, made some amount of sense, though Optimus wanted to believe his old friend was above that kind of behavior.

He shook his head, trying to clear way the fears cluttering his processor. Just standing here freaking out over it wasn't going to solve anything. The best he could do was go to Cybertron, figure out what was going on himself, and acquit himself as best as he could. The Magnus was a reasonable mech… surely he would understand that Optimus had needed every weapon possible to stand up to Megatron, right?

 _Understood, sir. Powering up the space bridge, ETA five minutes._ He cut the connection. "I hate to leave the party early, everyone, but Ultra Magnus wants me back on Cybertron."

"Say what?" Rodimus asked, frowning. "I didn't get a call."

"Want us to go with you, boss-bot?" asked Bumblebee.

Optimus shook his head. "They just want me. Don't stop the party on my account. Ratchet, come with me. I'll need you to power up the space bridge."

Ratchet scowled. "Something seems fishy about this, Optimus. Sure you don't want of us with you? At least take Prowl or Rodimus with you."

"Hey, what am I, shredded tin foil?" demanded Bumblebee.

"I'm meeting with Ultra Magnus, not trying to broker a truce with Decepticons," Optimus assured the medic. "All the same… if I'm not back in an hour, send someone after me. Just to be safe."

Ratchet's scowl didn't fade one iota, but he nodded. "Sumdac, come with us. Need you to let us in that fragged tower so we can reach the space bridge."

Isaac nodded, and he said a quick goodbye to Rodimus and followed the two mechs out.


	6. Revelation

They arrested him as soon as he stepped through the space bridge.

Optimus Prime had barely had time to adjust to his pedes being on solid ground again when hands grabbed his arms. Before he could gather his wits enough to fight back, the guards waiting on the other side of the bridge had slapped stasis cuffs on his wrists. Energy jolted painfully through his entire sensory network, locking every joint from his neck down.

"What-" he blurted, his CPU scrambling to figure out just what was going on.

"Optimus Prime," a green-armored guard barked, scowling at him as his comrades hauled the immobilized mech forward. "By the order of Ultra Magnus I hereby place you under arrest."

"Under… what's going on?" Optimus demanded, unable to comprehend what he'd just been told. "What charges-"

"You have the right to remain silent," the guard snapped, shoving a gun in his faceplate. "In fact, you're strongly urged to remain silent. We have been authorized to use lethal force if necessary."

"Lethal..." he repeated, far more shocked and baffled than actually frightened for his life. What was going on? What had he done - or what did they believe he had done - to warrant this treatment? Was this Sentinel's doing? He knew his fellow Prime could and did hold grudges for a long time, but to be THIS underhanded…

"What's going on?" he demanded. "What am I being charged with?"

The guard on his right rammed the butt of his rifle against his side, and he doubled over, agony coursing through him. His fans stuttered at the blow, and his air intakes coughed and choked as he struggled to get his cooling system back online.

"What part of 'remain silent' don't you understand?!"

"What in tarnation is goin' on here?!" Ratchet growled, stepping out of the space bridge and staring at the scene before him - his superior officer in cuffs and crumpled to the ground in pain, surrounded by guards with weapons drawn.

"This doesn't concern you, medic," the guard informed him. "Return to your post. Ultra Magnus specifically asked Optimus to come to Cybertron alone."

"If someone told YOU to come meet 'em and to come alone, would you listen?" Ratchet retorted, then bulled ahead before the mech could answer. "What the frag is going on here? Do you have any idea who you're arresting?"

"Of course we do," the green mech retorted. "A criminal in the making."

"Criminal? Has your processor been scrambled, you lemon? This is Optimus Prime! He took down Megatron almost single-handedly! How is THAT a criminal in the making?"

"Look, if you have an issue with it, take it up with Ultra Magnus," the green mech retorted. "We're just following orders, and our orders are to apprehend Optimus Prime at all costs and bring him before the Magnus and the Council. And to use whatever force necessary to do it."

Ratchet spluttered, then stormed forward, the prongs of his electromagnets sliding out of his arms. "I'll give you FORCE, you half-cocked turbo-revvin'-"

"Ratchet, stand down!" Optimus ordered… then grunted as another rifle butt drove into his side.

"You're in no position to give orders, _scraplet,_ " his captor growled. "But yes, stand down, medic. We're just doing our jobs."

"And I'm just doing MY job of looking after my commanding officer," Ratchet replied. "And until someone says otherwise, that's Optimus Prime! So I think I'll be accompanying you and havin' a few words with Ultra Magnus myself!"

"Fine by us," the guard replied with a shrug. "The Magnus probably wants witnesses to whatever his crimes are anyhow. Get him loaded up, troops."

Optimus wanted to protest, to say something to defend himself, but he could only stare in mute astonishment as the guards loaded him onto a hoversled and pushed him away like baggage. He felt locked out of his own chassis, as if looking down on himself from above. This was a nightmare, a horrible nightmare and nothing more… or perhaps some dark suppressed memory, and he'd snap out of it in a moment and be among his team again, enjoying a drink and listening to the others bicker and laugh…

He swallowed back the fear brewing in his tanks, and did his best to school his features into a neutral expression as his captors carried him into the heart of Iacon's Council Tower. Stay calm… that was all he could do at this point. Keep his cranial unit steady until he had a chance to hear the accusations against him and speak in his own defense. They could clear up this misunderstanding as soon as he saw the Magnus, and he'd be free to return to his team on Earth… right?

* * *

If Optimus had expected to find a sympathetic audial in Ultra Magnus, he was sorely mistaken. The expression of angry disdain on the Autobot commander's face made the bottom drop out of his fuel tanks as he was hauled upright and made to face the Council. The Council members glared just as coldly at him - even the normally-stoic Perceptor regarded him as if he were a rust mite under a microscope.

Optimus wasn't surprised to see Sentinel Prime standing at the Magnus' side - what surprised him was the look of absolute shock on Sentinel's face. Had he not played a role in this after all? Or was he just surprised that whatever stunt he'd managed to pull to land his rival in cuffs had actually worked?

"You're a clever one, Optimus," Ultra Magnus noted, his voice colder than liquid nitrogen. "Somehow you managed to keep this hidden from us for vorns. I can almost admire that level of cunning."

A shiver ran down the back of Optimus' neck, and would have continued down his spinal strut had the stasis cuffs not been immobilizing him almost completely. "With all due respect, Magnus sir, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play stupid with us," Cliffjumper barked, rising from his seat and pointing an accusing finger at the captive Prime. "You know exactly what we're talking about!"

"But I don't!" Optimus insisted. "Please, tell me what I'm being accused of!"

Magnus narrowed his unpatched optic. "You're good, Optimus. A good actor to convince us all that you really were a naive but noble young mech who just happened to capture the most notorious Decepticon commander of all time. You must have been planning this for a long time, to fool us all for so long."

"I haven't been fooling anyone!" Optimus shouted. Why wouldn't they just tell him what was going on? Just what had Sentinel told Magnus to turn him against him so suddenly?

"Ultra Magnus," Alpha Trion cut in. "I recommend that we not delay laying the charges against Optimus any longer. Some may appreciate the dramatic effect, but it's only wasting the Council's time at this point."

Magnus nodded. "Optimus Prime, you are hereby charged with withholding the truth regarding your parental programming from Autobot High Command."

Optimus blinked his optic shutters, dumbfounded. THIS was what all the fuss was about? Him supposedly withholding information that he didn't even have? Was this the best Sentinel could come up with to disgrace him? He might have laughed had the Magnus' expression not been so cold and hateful.

"I have no idea who my creators even are," he protested. "I was a foundling who grew up in an orphanage in Iacon. No one ever stepped forward to claim me."

"Small wonder, given who spawned your spark," Cliffjumper muttered.

His optic ridges bunched in a frown. "What do you mean?"

" _Sentinel Prime uncovered the origin of the subject's spark energy,"_ Perceptor replied, _"and notified the Council. Additional scans will be necessary for a final confirmation, but the subject's creator has been identified. Certainty determined to be at 98.765 percent, with an error margin of 0.005 percent."_

Optimus blinked. "You know, then? You know who my creator is? Who? And… and how?"

"Ah," Alpha Trion murmured, and some of the anger left his optics. "He doesn't know. This changes things."

"This changes nothing," Ultra Magnus replied. "Whether he willfully hid his heritage from us or he simply didn't know, it doesn't change the fact that our so-called Hero of Cybertron is the son of Megatron."

It was as if the Magnus had driven his hammer directly into Optimus' abdominal plates. His fans stalled entirely, and his CPU ground to a sudden halt. Had the stasis cuffs not immobilized him, he might have sank to the floor in shock. It couldn't be… this had to be a trick…

"Our archivists discovered evidence that Megatron had stolen a protoform and sparked offspring," Alpha Trion explained. "Sentinel Prime was able to obtain your spark readings and compare them to Megatron's. The readings are a match… meaning that you, Optimus, are the creation of Megatron, the leader of the Decepticons."

 _No… no, it can't be,_ he thought, staring at the Magnus and Council members in utter shock. _This is a trick! This is something Sentinel has come up with to stir up controversy! They can't honestly believe this!_ His mouth hung open as he struggled to voice his thoughts, but he couldn't get the words out.

Ratchet, apparently, decided to voice them for him. "This is a load of hot slag and you all know it!" he roared, storming forward.

"I thought I ordered you to come alone, Optimus," said Magnus, narrowing his optics. "Under ordinary circumstances I'd have you disciplined for defying my orders, but these are hardly normal circumstances-"

"Are you seriously trusting this mech?!" Ratchet demanded, thrusting a finger in Sentinel's direction. "You know he's had it in for Optimus for centuries! He probably fabricated his evidence just to discredit Optimus and get him in trouble!"

A scowl overtook Sentinel's troubled expression. "I would NEVER give false information to the Council! Unlike some mechs I could mention!"

"Ratchet, we have already confirmed Sentinel Prime's findings for ourselves," Alpha Trion explained. "We retrieved scans from the original sources - Megatron's from the scan taken upon his incarceration, Optimus' from the foundling home where he was raised. Our findings confirmed what Sentinel Prime told us. Optimus is indeed the son of Megatron."

"Where's your proof?!" Ratchet demanded. "All I'm seeing is jaws flapping! Show me some solid proof or-"

Perceptor tapped a button on his console, and a holo materialized before Ratchet and Optimus - a holo displaying two spark readings, the wavelengths and intensity of their energy pulses clearly visible. They weren't an exact match - only spark-twins had identical spark readings - but the energy signatures were too similar to be mere coincidence. And each spark bore a clear label - one Optimus Prime's, one Megatron's.

Shock wiped the scowl from Ratchet's face. "It can't be…"

Optimus tried to shake his head in denial but found he couldn't. This couldn't be happening. This was all a nightmare… surely he would wake up soon… surely he'd come online and find it had all been a trick of his CPU…

"Optimus," Ultra Magnus declared, "it is the decision of this Council that you be stripped of your title as Prime, and released from your duties to your team. It is also the decision of this Council that you be detained until further notice, while we decide the best course of action from this point."

The words were another blow to his fuel tanks. "Ultra Magnus-"

"You haven't been given permission to speak, Decepti-spawn!" Cliffjumper snapped.

"Let him speak," Ultra Magnus countered. "But be careful trusting anything he says. Decepticons are notorious liars."

Optimus flinched at that comment. "I'm not a Decepticon… I'm an Autobot. Always have been, always will be. I had no idea Megatron was my father until you brought me here! Would I have fought and captured him had I known?"

" _Probability of that event sequence: high,"_ Perceptor replied. _"Subterfuge and treachery are frequent occurrences among Decepticons. The most likely hypothesis is that the subject apprehended Megatron to reduce suspicion among the Autobots, though a secondary hypothesis - that Megatron's capture ensured his elimination as Decepticon Commander in order for the subject to more easily assume the role - exists."_

"That's not true!" Optimus insisted. "I didn't know… and even if I did know, there's no way I'd allow Megatron to hurt innocents, Cybertronian OR human. Please… this doesn't change who I am. I'm still Optimus Prime, still loyal to Cybertron and to my team. This doesn't change anything!"

Magnus' icy expression didn't change. The rest of the Council appeared just as unmoved. Sentinel's expression was hard to read, but Optimus thought he looked a little conflicted… unless that was just wishful thinking on his part. Ratchet hadn't spoken since he'd viewed the spark scans, and the look of utter shock on his faceplate devastated Optimus. Had he just lost another friend thanks to this revelation?

"On the contrary, Optimus," Magnus said at last, his voice low and hard. "This changes everything. Guards, take him away."

Optimus wanted to fight back as the guards grabbed his arms and forced him back onto the hoversled, but he could barely do more than twitch his fingers as they hauled him away. ''Please! I'm still loyal to the Autobots! You're making a huge mista-"

A guard slapped a mouthplate over his face, muffling the last of his sentence. Optimus wanted to squirm and fight back as his captors bolted the gagging device into place, but he could only twitch his headfins furiously.

"We'll decide Optimus' fate at Megatron's trial," Magnus announced. "In the meantime…"

Optimus never heard what would be done in the meantime - Ultra Magnus' voice faded away as he was hauled out of the assembly chamber and towards his fate. He caught sight of Ratchet's face briefly… and somehow, the look of horror on the medic's faceplate was worse than Ultra Magnus' accusations.

* * *

_I didn't want this to happen._

Sentinel thought he'd be delighted to see his old rival hauled off in cuffs, to be brought down a peg or two after basking in the glory of being Cybertron's hero. But as he watched the guards clamp the vocal restraint over his face, he found that he only felt horror at the sight. He'd wanted Optimus to face some kind of consequences, yes - to have his glory tarnished, the pride he most surely felt but masked behind a veneer of humility taken down a notch.

This wasn't how he'd wanted it to go, though. He thought the revelation he'd uncovered would simply mean Optimus Prime was kept under much closer scrutiny, or even demoted from Prime to Major or Minor or even Ensign. He hadn't imagined the mech would be treated like a criminal right away, simply for the crime of being sparked by the wrong mech.

 _It's for the best,_ he tried to tell himself. _He's linked to Megatron in the worst way. There's no telling WHAT his programming will have him do. He could become violent at a moment's notice, he could be a sleeper agent, he could be plotting to kill Ultra Magnus and take his place as leader of the Autobots AND the Decepticons…_

He had a very hard time convincing himself of any of that, however. Optimus had never hesitated to leap into combat if necessary to protect someone, but he wasn't a violent mech. And he had never shown anything but utmost loyalty towards the Autobots, even when disgraced and expelled from the Academy after the loss of Elita-1.

Ratchet seemed to recover from his shock faster than Sentinel, and rounded on the Magnus as soon as he'd gathered his wits again. "This is a joke, right? Let him go!"

"Return to your post, medic," Ultra Magnus ordered. "Tell your team to await your new leader-"

"Like frag I'm going back without Prime!" Ratchet snarled. "I don't care who he shares programming with! He's our leader, and he doesn't deserve this kind of treatment!"

"He's a Decepticon!" Cliffjumper shouted back, rising from his seat. "He has you all fooled! He has you right where he wants you - as his pawns in whatever sick game he's playing with both Earth and Cybertron!"

"The only pawns I see here are you idiots!" Ratchet retorted. "All of you letting yourself be manipulated by a power-grabbing fool! Optimus Prime may be Megatron's son, but he's still twice the hero THAT hunk of scrap will ever be!" He pointed at Sentinel. "And you're all so fragging scared of anything that stinks of Decepticon that you're letting him scare you into being his tools!"

Sentinel scowled, the sting of the medic's accusations dampening his shock for a moment. "This isn't about me, Ratchet! It's about protecting Cybertron from a dangerous mech!"

"The only thing Optimus is dangerous towards is your reputation, Sentinel!" Ratchet shot back. "He's a good mech, no matter where his spark energy came from! Let him GO! Or so help me I'll-"

Sentinel drew his lance, lowering it to aim at the medic. "Is that a threat towards the Magnus, medic?"

"Enough!" Ultra Magnus shouted. "That's enough out of both of you! Stand down, Sentinel Prime. And another word out of YOU, Ratchet, and I'll have you in a cell right next to Optimus!"

The two mechs glowered at one another for a long moment, Ratchet grinding his dental plates and Sentinel's fingers clenching tightly around the handle of his lance. Then Sentinel slowly lowered his weapon, and Ratchet returned his gaze to the Magnus, though it was clearly taking all his self-control to hold his vocalizer.

"Ratchet, you are to return to the Autobot Base on Earth at once," Ultra Magnus ordered. "You will inform your team of the developments here on Cybertron, and await your new team leader. Do not attempt to undermine their leadership, or there will be consequences."

Ratchet gave a short, sharp nod, optics blazing with anger. He didn't verbally acknowledge the Autobot leader at all - if anything, he seemed determined to comply with the order to be silent as maliciously as possible.

"Sentinel Prime, thank you for bringing this matter to our attention," Ultra Magnus told him, his voice thawing a few degrees. "Your diligence has been most appreciated, as has your loyalty to the Autobot cause."

Sentinel Prime nodded, not sure he trusted himself to speak without saying something foolish. Such praise from the Magnus himself was normally very welcome, but today it felt hollow.

"You're both dismissed," Ultra Magnus told him. "And Ratchet?"

The medic had turned to leave, but he halted in his tracks and turned to face the Magnus, still scowling.

"The next time you return to Cybertron, I expect my hammer returned to me."

Ratchet didn't speak, merely raised his hand in a gesture Sentinel didn't recognize before storming out of the assembly chamber. Sentinel could only assume that it was both human and a nonverbal suggestion that the Magnus put his hammer someplace unmentionable.

"Oh dear," Alpha Trion murmured. "Optimus definitely inspired loyalty in his team, it seems."

"Trait he shares with his creator, apparently," Cliffjumper muttered. "What are we going to do with him?"

"We will decide that at a later date," Magnus replied. "For now, this Council is adjourned. Sentinel Prime, you may go."

Sentinel saluted and left the chamber, trying to still the churning in his tanks. He'd done the right thing, hadn't he? He'd completed his mission, identified the son of Megatron and handed over his identity to the Magnus. A potentially dangerous mech was no longer a threat to Cybertron. So why did he feel like he'd just made a huge mistake?

* * *

CLANG

Megatron roused, lights and colors smeared across his vision in a blurred mess before he managed to refocus his optics. The doors to his prison block had opened again… that meant something significant. But his muddled processor couldn't figure it out. If he just had the energy to think…

Two guards passed in front of his cell, and one turned to give him a mocking glare. He just gazed back, too weak to muster up the strength to glower in return. Let them do what they would with him. He couldn't bring himself to care. At least it would be a quick death… and if they were foolish enough to undo his cuffs, it might even be a slightly honorable death…

But the guards weren't here for him. They turned to the cell across from him and unlocked the door. The hulking Autobot within glanced up, scowling.

"It ain't my time yet!" he protested. "They promised me 'nother orn at least before they terminated me!"

"Oh, shut your mouth, Impactor!" one of the guards retorted. "You know full well your sentenced was reduced to life in prison last decacycle."

"...oh, right." It hadn't taken long for Megatron to notice that this Impactor was a few battleships short of a fleet. "Uh… what's goin' on?"

"You're being moved to the medium-security level," the other guard replied. "You've been on good behavior-"

From Megatron's left came the insane cackle of Blitzwing's lunatic personality. "Zat's a good one, _freund!_ Tell another!"

"Fraggit, who took off his gag?" grumbled the first guard. "Send someone down to replace it! But you're being bumped down a security level for good behavior, Impactor. That, and with the influx of Decepticon prisoners, we gotta make room for them in max security."

"Oh, good," Impactor muttered as the guards cuffed his wrists and led him away. "That'll be a relief. Seriously, why did you have to put Megatron in the cell across from me? It's creepy being stared at by that mug all day…"

Megatron watched with a sort of detached resentment as they escorted Impactor out Of course the Autobot would be moved to a bigger, less restrictive cell for "good behavior," despite frequently attacking the guards and throwing himself against the walls of his cell like a wild mechanimal. Never mind that most of the Decepticons had been perfectly well-behaved in comparison, if only because they remained cuffed and muzzled despite being locked up.

 _Stop dwelling on it,_ he told himself. _The Autobots have always played favorites, even before the war. Let it go and focus on… on…_ He couldn't hold onto that train of thought, not without feeling it slip out of his grasp.

"Get him inside."

His optics snapped up as another set of guards entered the high-security block, pushing a new prisoner in on a hoversled. They laughed and joked between themselves as they hauled the mech to his feet and shoved him into the cell, not even bothering to remove his cuffs or mouthplate before shutting the transparent door behind him.

Megatron's optics met the prisoner's bewildered stare, shock driving away the terrible lethargy that had been gnawing at him for so long. This was no Decepticon prisoner - this was Optimus Prime! The very same upstart Autobot who had defeated and captured him in the first place! For a wild moment anger burned through his systems, and he longed to draw on it, to use the strength of that rage to shatter the door of his prison and have his revenge on the young mech who had cost him everything…

But that rage tangled with confusion before dying away, leaving only a puzzled shock in its place. What was Optimus doing here? Was this some kind of trick? Or had the mech managed to do something unspeakable to land himself in prison? Surely he wouldn't have been that stupid…

The green-armored guard stepped up to Megatron's cell and slapped the transparisteel door, giving a mocking laugh. "Enjoying the view, Slagmaker?"

Megatron raised an optic ridge, the closest he could come to asking just what in the Allspark's name was going on here.

"Never let it be said that we're entirely sparkless here," the guard went on with a gloating grin. "So get a good long look. It's the closest you'll ever come to getting a family visit in here."

 _What is he babbling about?_ Megatron thought… and met Optimus' gaze again.

_Those optics… vibrant blue, as blue as the day they had flickered to life as a newspark settled into the protoform's chest… optics that had shone with avid curiosity and delight at everything around him… and utter terror as their bearer had been snatched cruelly away, never to be seen again…_

_It can't be. He's dead… he's long dead. This can't be…_

"Isn't this sweet?" the other guard, a squat brown-and-cream mech, hooted. "A father-son reunion! Enjoy it, you two, 'cause who knows how much longer it'll last after your trial! Who knows, maybe they'll arrange a joint execution for you two. Wouldn't THAT be a nice bonding moment?"

And the guards walked out, cackling with a wicked glee as they pushed the empty hoversled out of sight.

Megatron held Optimus' gaze for a long moment, struggling to process what he'd just heard and witnessed. Optimus Prime… his son… the son he thought he had lost…

Optimus stared back, his optics wide and bright with horror. Then he slumped forward, helm pressed against the transparisteel door, and silently wept.


	7. A Quiet Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it was pointed out to me that I've been referring to the character of Red Alert by the wrong name (First Aid) throughout this fic. Whoops. Gone back and corrected this, and hopefully will continue to call her by the right name for the remainder of the story.

Optimus had no idea how long he stood there in the cramped confines of his cell, shoulders jerking as he vented the tangled emotions in his spark. It felt like hours, though it was most likely only minutes. His optics burned, cleanser marking streaks down his face, and his throat tubing clenched with the pain of sobs he couldn't utter aloud.

His HUD lit up, alerting him that his cleanser ducts had run dry. He literally had no more tears… though that didn't mean the emotions in his spark had run dry. Not at all.

He lifted his head to regard the cell across from him. Megatron gazed back at him, his optics dim with exhaustion and lack of energy, the vocalizer restraint over the lower half of his face obscuring his expression. The calculating anger and cunning that had burned in the Decepticon leader's optics was gone - now he only gazed at the younger mech as if trying to commit every detail to memory.

His father… _his father…_ This mech had sparked him. The most notorious war criminal in Cybertron's history, and he shared programming with him. The horror of it was more than his spark could bear.

"Is it really you, _schatzi?"_

He broke his gaze from Megatron's, almost grateful for the distraction, and turned to face Blitzwing. The triple-changer's logical personality was in charge now, studying him contemplatively. Had his hands been free he might have been cupping his chin in thought.

"I see ze similarities now," he noted. "Ze colors are different, but ze optics are ze same, and ze olfactory sensor. It is you, Orion… and here ve thought ve would never see you again."

Optimus just stared, feeling his headfins twitch at Blitzwing's words. He'd had another name… and this mech recognized him, a mech whom he had traded blows with many times before his capture. Yet the mech was gazing at him like an object of curiosity now, not an enemy. Indeed, there was almost a degree of fondness in his gaze.

With a blur of his faceplates, another of the triple-changer's personalities shifted to the fore - the enraged one. "Did zey hurt you, little Orion?! I vill destroy zose Autobots for daring to lay a hand on you! Right after I hunt down and slaughter the slavers who stole you!"

His headfins jerked again as another piece of the past fell into place… but as much as he wanted to ask Blitzwing to explain further, he couldn't. The triple-changer might have found out how to slip his vocalizer restraint, but that was beyond Optimus' knowledge. And honestly, he didn't trust himself to speak at the moment. Not without blubbering like a fool or screaming at Megatron for ruining his life.

Another shift, and the lunatic personality's jagged mouth opened in a wild cackle. "Oh-ho-ho-ho, ve missed you, _schatzi!_ Ve had such good times together! You used to like us bouncing you in our lap while your father was busy with-"

Blitzwing's cell slid open while he rambled, and before he could finish that sentence a guard stepped inside and refastened the gag, bolting it securely into place. Blitzwing wobbled his head from side to side, as if trying to continue his babbling despite being effectively muted. The guard just rolled her optics, shut and locked the cell, and stalked away.

Megatron hadn't reacted to Blitzwing's words, just continued to stare at the Autobot captive. Optimus, however, shuttered his optics as he processed what the triple-changer had told him. He'd dropped valuable clues about his past… and all but confirmed the truth. He had been Orion, son of Megatron, spawn of the fearsome Decepticon commander… and ultimately had been ripped from his father's side by slavers.

 _The memories make sense now,_ he realized. His early memories were fragmented and scattered, pieces and images rather than full recollections, but he did recall being aboard a ship, strong hands lifting him onto a broad shoulder and carrying him through its corridors… a cruel grip tearing him from his father's side and rushing him away… huddling in a cramped cage stuffed with other sparklings, all shaking and terrified…

His first clear memories had been of the Autobots who had broken open the cage and hauled the shivering sparklings out… and from there, being shepherded to the foundling home where he would make friends, receive his upgrades, and eventually make his way to the Academy as a cadet. He had been just another rescue child then, a refugee assumed to be an orphan in the wake of a devastating war. No one, least of all him, had had any inkling that he'd been something far worse than just another foundling.

His CPU seemed satisfied with how logically it all fit together… but his spark still churned with anger and horror and revulsion. It was one thing to learn the truth about your origins, but quite another to accept that truth as fact. And he wanted nothing more than to somehow tear this revelation out of his CPU and destroy it, to deny it with all his spark, to just curl up and scream until all this madness went away and he awakened from this nightmare and everything had gone back to normal…

The sound wasn't terribly loud, but it was just regular enough to finally pierce his haze of confusion and pain and reach his processor. He opened his optic shutters and gazed at Megatron… or more accurately, at his hand. His wrists were still cuffed, immobilizing every joint in his body save the tips of his fingers, and those fingertips were moving in a regular pattern.

 _Tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap._ A pause, then another series of taps. _Tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap._

Optimus' headfins quivered again. That hand signal… he'd used it before with his own team, a hand-language to communicate with his teammates in situations where the sound of speech would only draw unneeded attention. And that particular series of taps wasn't just a message, but a question.

 _Okay?_ Pause. _Okay?_ The mech who had tried to kill him multiple times before, who would have sliced his spark from his chest without a second thought, was asking the most unlikely of questions - _are you okay?_

Optimus stared a long moment at Megatron, then focused all his energy into tapping a message in response. Two rapid taps, nothing more - _No._

He so badly wanted that word to convey everything else he felt at the moment - _I want nothing to do with you, how can I be drawn from a monster's programming, where do you get the audacity to be concerned about me -_ but the signals were rather limited. And honestly, if he had the ability to speak, he was sure he would be screaming until his vocalizer shorted itself out.

Megatron's head rocked ever so slightly on its neck joint, a silent acknowledgment. Perhaps he'd expected that answer - how could anyone be okay in this situation? Especially given the news that had just been broken to them in the worst of ways?

A pause, then the silver mech tapped his fingers again. _Is backup coming?_

What kind of question was that? Optimus wracked his CPU for a potential response. Was he truly asking a military question at this moment? Or was he trying to ask something else, and using the closest hand signal he could think of to get it across?

 _Maybe he's wondering if a rescue's coming,_ he decided. _If he thinks my team will come to Cybertron and try for a jailbreak._

At one point, he might have answered that question with a resounding yes. But the expression on Ratchet's face as he'd been dragged out of the council chamber - horror, disbelief, a deep burning rage - was still burned into his CPU. He'd lost the loyalty of the mech he'd considered one of his closest friends… and once Ratchet got back to Detroit and told the other Autobots, he was sure they would have the same reaction. They had all faced their own horrors at the hands of Megatron and his warriors, and would surely turn their backs on him upon knowing the truth of his origins.

No rescue was coming. He was alone… alone with the tyrant who had spawned him.

Two quick taps. _No._

Megatron's optics dimmed as he processed that. Then he tapped a response.

_Mission failed._

Optimus frowned behind the vocalizer restraint. That statement could have multiple meanings… and somehow he didn't think Megatron was stating the blindingly obvious in that his mission to take over Cybertron had failed. Was he mocking Optimus for falling so far, from being the hero of Cybertron to the second most hated mech on the planet? Or was he referring to his failure towards Optimus himself? Was he, in the restricted nature of the hand signals, trying to apologize for not being there for him?

 _What does it matter?_ Optimus thought, anger boiling in his spark. _He wasn't there, and you're glad for it. You might be descended from his programming, but you're not his son. He was never your father. His apology, if that's what it is, means nothing…_

Megatron's head suddenly slumped forward, his optics going black. Optimus felt his spark lurch in his chest. Had he just watched the mech shut down before his optics? No, his chassis hadn't dimmed to death-gray, and his engines still hummed, albeit haltingly…

Scarlet optics flared to life again, and Megatron jerked his head up, shaking. He was still online… but Optimus knew the effects of severe energy depletion when he saw them. And the longer he gazed at Megatron, the more damage he saw. Not just the deep cracks and dents he'd inflicted on him during that fateful battle in Detroit, but new dents and scuffs he swore hadn't been there when he'd turned Megatron over to the Elite Guard. And some of those dents looked too neatly lined up… as if they'd been made by knuckles.

 _They haven't even repaired him,_ he realized. _No, worse than that - they've roughed him up. I thought we treated our prisoners with some degree of mercy._

He hesitated… then tapped his fingers. _Okay?_

Megatron's optics flickered in surprise, but he gave a single tap in response. _Yes._

An obvious lie… but Optimus let it go anyhow. _Is backup coming?_

Two quick taps. _No._

Had all Megatron's forces been captured? Were Blitzwing, Lugnut, Shockwave, Swindle, and the Starscream clones really all that remained of his once-mighty army? Or did he have other troops out there, simply unaware that their leader had been captured? Or perhaps under orders to stay hidden until the time was right? Optimus supposed it didn't matter - whatever the reason, it was hopeless to count on a rescue from either side.

He looked Megatron in the optic, then tapped out another message. _Further explanation required._ If he was going to be trapped here, in close quarters with the mech who had tried to kill him so many times but had also given him spark, then he wanted answers. Who was he? Why had Megatron created a son in the midst of a war? What had his early days been like? And why had they been separated for so long?

Megatron tapped again. _Wait. Stand down. Explanation forthcoming._

Optimus gave the slightest of nods. This situation still left his spark raw with grief and horror… but it also raised more questions than it answered. And if remaining in this cell meant the possibility of having those questions addressed… well, it was a slim silver lining, but he would cling to it anyhow. It was the only way he knew to keep his sanity.

* * *

"He's WHAT?!" Bulkhead roared. "Are you tellin' us Prime's the son of-"

"Keep your fraggin' voice down!" Ratchet ordered. "You want all of Detroit to hear you?"

Bumblebee burst out laughing, slapping one hand against the ratty couch cushion. "Oh man… and here I thought you had no sense of humor, Ratchet!"

Ratchet narrowed his optics, and Bumblebee's laughter trailed off into a look of horror. "Wait… you're not joking, are you?"

"The doc wouldn't jive us 'bout somethin' this heavy," Jazz replied. "But man… I wish he was."

Prowl hadn't said a word since Ratchet had returned to Earth and dropped his bombshell. He kept his hands folded before him, his expression stoic and unmoved… though Ratchet fancied he could see his optics pale behind his gold visor. That might just be a trick of his optical processor, but he knew this latest information disturbed the ninja on some level.

Both Team Detroit and Team Athenia had gathered in the common room of the Sumdac Tower base to hear the news about Optimus Prime's arrest… and his terrible link to Megatron. Ratchet had dreaded delivering this news, and seeing the shock and horror on his comrades' faceplates only made his core ache all the worse. All these mechs had regarded Optimus as a hero, and seeing their idol's name tarnished like this had to be a blow.

"Megatron sparked Optimus," Bulkhead muttered, his gaze fixed on his feet. "Slag… and he was always such a nice guy! Who'd have thought he'd be related to the Slagmaker?"

"Not like there's a family resemblance," Ironhide huffed. "He kept it hidden good, I'll give 'im that. Surprised he kept it canned up THIS long."

"Did you know?" Rodimus asked quietly. "Did you know he was the son of… that thing?" He sounded almost hurt, as if the news that the mech he'd admired had such sketchy origins was more than he could bear.

"I found out the same time Optimus did, if that's what you're wondering," Ratchet replied. "This isn't some dark secret Optimus has been sitting on for cycles - he was just as shocked as the rest of you."

"I find that hard to believe," Red Alert pointed out, frowning. "Surely he had some clue about his past. You don't just forget your creators."

"Oh?" Ratchet retorted, glaring at his fellow medic. "And you remember the first cycle of your functioning time with perfect clarity? Or the exact details of whoever brought you online?"

She scowled but didn't press that issue.

"So what do we do now?" Jazz asked. "I'm guessin' Iacon'll eventually send a replacement leader for Team Detroit."

"More likely they'll just merge our teams together," Hot Shot replied. "I mean… the Elite Guard isn't exactly spitting out Primes right and left. They'll probably put Rodimus Prime in charge of all of us, at least for now."

Ratchet flinched. Ultra Magnus would do exactly that - and worse, it seemed that these mechs were accepting that as irrefutable fact. Were they really writing their leader off so fast based on this revelation? Where was the outrage at their Prime's arrest? Where was the loyalty to the mech who had led them for so long, had sacrificed so much for them?

"Are you crazy?!" Bumblebee shrieked, leaping to his feet. "No one leads us but Optimus Prime!"

"Yeah!" Bulkhead declared, clenching one hand into a fist and thumping it into his palm. "We're not just gonna sit here and let 'em lock Prime up for good! We gotta go to Cybertron and get Prime outta there!"

Ratchet fought the urge to smile, but that was a battle he was happy to lose. _There's the outrage… and the loyalty. I underestimated these young punks. Despite everything, Prime's still their champion._

"Did you lunkheads miss what he said?" Brawn demanded. "Optimus Prime's a Decepticon!"

"He's an Autobot!" Bumblebee retorted. "Last I checked, he wore the Autobot symbol!"

"Yeah, but he's a Con in his programming," Brawn shot back. "And not just that - he was sparked by Megatron himself! Don't that bother you?"

"If Prime's a Decepticon, then I'm a minibot," Bulkhead replied. "And he's our leader. Knowing who he's related to is kinda weird, yeah, but it doesn't change anything!"

"You're wrong, Bulkhead."

All optics fixed on Prowl, and Ratchet felt his scowl return. Prowl chose NOW to finally speak his mind?

"It doesn't change a thing," the medic insisted. "Optimus Prime is still the same mech who took you into our team no questions asked, the same mech who saw a bunch of rejects and outcasts and saw potential. This changes nothing!"

Prowl shook his head, his expression as serene as ever but his voice troubled. "No. It changes one thing in particular."

"Whatcha talkin' about, man?" Jazz asked, staring at his fellow cyberninja.

"Namely that Optimus Prime is no longer safe," Prowl replied, rising to his feet. "Before this, Optimus was considered a hero - and even before then, he was still a Prime, someone in a position of respect. This revelation is going to put a target on his back for the rest of his life." He turned to regard Bumblebee and Bulkhead. "We've depended on Optimus to protect us for a long time… but now it's time for us to protect him. And for all he's done for us, I think that's the least we can do in return. If you're not up to that task, now's the time to back out."

Bumblebee drew himself up straight, his stingers crackling to life. "Like frag am I gonna back out! Boss-bot's our friend, and I'll defend him with my spark if that's what it takes!"

"Yeah!" Bulkhead whooped, pumping his fist in the air.

Ratchet's smile returned. "Wise words, Prowl… and it's gonna be no easy task to protect Optimus from the wrath of the Council and the Magnus. But in my opinion, we owe it to him to do all we can to free him and protect him."

"You mean we get to plan a jailbreak?" asked Bumblebee. "Sweet!"

"Not yet," Ratchet replied. "First we need to go before Ultra Magnus and plead our case to him. It's possible we may be able to talk some sense into him and get him to release Optimus."

"But what if that doesn't work?" asked Bulkhead.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Ratchet told him.

"Meaning a jailbreak," Bumblebee grinned. "Man, never thought I'd be this excited to break a mech outta prison."

"What'll you have us do?" asked Rodimus. "My team can be ready to ship out within half a breem."

"You can't be serious," Red Alert protested. "Do you know what kind of charges can be brought against us if we're caught helping break a mech out of prison?"

"And the offspring'a Megatron no less!" Ironhide added.

Rodimus frowned at his team. "Really, I'm surprised at all of you! Where's your sense of adventure? We've never backed down from a challenge before, and I don't intend to start now." His lip plates cocked in a daredevil grin. "Besides… Ratchet is right. It doesn't matter who sparked Optimus Prime - he's still the hero of Cybertron, even if everyone else is choosing to forget about that. And I say we go help our hero!"

"Cool you thrusters, rookie," Ratchet ordered. "You an' your team are stayin' put."

"Awww!" whined Hot Shot. "Why do WE have to miss out on all the fun?"

"Because someone needs to stay behind on Earth in case rogue Decepticons show up or Allspark fragments turn up," Ratchet replied. "As important as rescuing our friend is, we can't leave Earth defenseless either. We're counting on you to keep things together while we're gone, Rodimus. Can you do that?"

Rodimus nodded. "We won't let you down, sir."

Ratchet narrowed his optics, thinking that the young Prime had conceded far too quickly for his liking. But he decided not to press his luck by digging further. "Team Detroit, to the space bridge! Anyone not on the roof in sixty astroseconds gets left behind!"

"Yessir!" Bumblebee transformed and tore off in a flash, Bulkhead close behind. Jazz and Prowl ran out on foot, and Hot Shot moved to follow but was restrained by Brawl's broad hand on his shoulder.

Ironhide waited until Ratchet had transformed and taken off after the rest of his team before turning to Rodimus. "We're following 'em, aren't we?"

Rodimus' daredevil grin returned. "Of course we are. Wait an hour before we head to the space bridge, just in case, all right?"

Red Alert rolled her optics. "I'm going to regret this."

* * *

"How dare you disgrace me like this, you walking derelict?!"

Wreck-Gar grinned guilelessly down at the head in his arms. "I am Wreck-Gar, and I am NOT a walking derelict! I am an honorary Autobot! Well… sorta. Nobody's told me I still have the job." He scratched the top of his helm, shedding a few flakes of rust and dislodging some flies in the process. "But hey, nobody's told me I'm fired yet either, so I guess I'm still one, huh?"

"What ARE you blathering about, you scrapheap?"

"I dunno, but at least I have someone around who'll listen to me," Wreck-Gar replied. "The critters and the hobos tend to ignore me or run the other way, so it's nice to have some actual company, ya know?"

Starscream ground his dental plates, glaring up at the orange mech as he continued to stroll through the landfill, his unwilling companion cradled in his arms. This was undignified in the extreme! Bad enough that he was reduced to a head _again,_ but he was stuck with this blithering idiot! He wasn't even a proper Cybertronian, just a pile of human-generated garbage somehow given life by the Allspark. And he didn't even have the decency to treat him with the respect an Air Commander deserved!

 _Is this to be my fate?_ he bemoaned, seething. _To be the plaything of a demented Junk-ion for the rest of my functioning days? At least the LAST time I was reduced to a head I was still in a position to get control of the situation… now I don't even know what the situation IS! And this blockhead will be no help!_

"Unhand me THIS instant!" Starscream shrieked. "Or ELSE!"

"But… you don't have hands," Wreck-Gar pointed out, cocking his head to the side.

"Just put me down!"

"Okay!" And Wreck-Gar dropped the head in a rust-and-oil-scummed puddle.

"ARGH! Pickmeuppickmeuppickmeup!"

"Geez, make up your mind!" Wreck-Gar picked Starscream up, wiped him off with a tattered beach towel he plucked out of his backpack, and strolled off again.

Starscream spit out a mouthful of foul-tasting water before speaking up again. "Guh… how did I get stuck with you anyhow?"

"Just lucky, I guess?" Wreck-Gar hefted the head in his hands and set it in a box-shaped niche in a wall of trash that bordered one side of the landfill. "There! Now you get a nice view of home!"

Starscream scowled as his optics swept across the heaps of garbage that littered the landscape as far as he could see, interrupted by the occasional bulldozer or other piece of heavy machinery shuffling the trash from one place to another. So this was to be his home for the foreseeable future - this kingdom of refuse and detritus, ruled by a king who was far more jester than monarch. And bereft of his body - a body that was too badly damaged to operate even if his head had been attached to it - there was little he could do to overthrow THIS king and better his situation.

 _Just offline me,_ he thought. _I was better off dead in the streets of Detroit, or floating through deep space with Megatron for company. There's no way this situation can get any worse…_

"Here it is, brother!"

Starscream squawked as two mechs thrust their faces into his field of vision - one blue and silver with a blue visor, the other orange and ivory with large gold optics and what looked like a pair of goggles on top of his helm. They regarded him with puzzled expressions, tilting their heads from side to side as if studying a particularly interesting cyberroach.

"What are you staring at?" he demanded.

"Is this being the source of the SOS?" the blue one asked.

"I am thinking it is," the orange one replied, raising a hand to poke lightly at Starscream's chin. "Where is the rest of him, I am wondering?"

"Stop poking me!" Starscream barked. "What IS it with you Autobots being so handsy?"

The orange one pulled his hand back, but he continued to stare at Starscream. "Are you being okay? Who is taking your head from your body? We are not medics, but that is not looking healthy to us."

"Ask THAT idiot," Starscream growled, thrusting his chin in the direction of Wreck-Gar. The junk-mech seemed to share an attention span with Blitzwing's insane personality and was currently occupying himself with a musical instrument he called a "squeezebox." Whatever THAT was.

"Well, that wasn't being nice of him!" the blue one exclaimed. "Where is your body? Perhaps we can be putting you back together again!"

Starscream opened his mouth to tell these two mechs to get lost, then slowly shut it again. These mechs might be pesky, but they actually wanted to help him. How adorably naive… and how convenient for him. If they truly wanted to lend him a hand, who was he to deny them the chance to be generous?

And the longer he looked at these two youngsters, the more intrigued he became. They wore Autobot crests, but bore obvious flight alt modes - something normally seen only in Decepticons. Had the Autobots managed to figure out flying alt modes for themselves? Or had they stolen the technology? Come to think of it, they HAD taken scans of his chassis and spark while he'd been their captive, before his escape…

_Most curious… most curious indeed. Perhaps that SOS I sent out DID work - just not in the way I anticipated. And perhaps I can work this to my advantage. I just have to be careful..._

"Why, I would love your help, younglings," he told them, softening his voice with an oily smile. "If you could just carry me over to my chassis, I'd be most grateful."

"We can be doing that, sir!" the orange one replied, and he scooped up Starscream's head and skipped off. "I am Jetfire, and this is my brother Jetstorm! We will be helping you!"

"Jetfire and Jetstorm… a pleasure." He gritted his dental plates, fighting back the urge to snap at Jetfire for bouncing him around. "I think we're going to get along nicely."

"A new friend!" Jetstorm gushed. "New friends are being the best!"

"New friends!" Wreck-Gar called out, tossing the squeezebox aside and skipping after the Jet-brothers. "This is the greatest day ever! Hey, let me help you with that! I'm good at fixing things! Or at least with duct tape and superglue, same thing, right?"

Starscream fought the urge to roll his optics. Two innocent Autobot fliers and a Junk-ion were hardly glorious beginnings for his own personal army… but it was a step forward. And any step, no matter how small or strange, counted at this point.


	8. A New Mission

CLANG

Optimus roused from a fitful slumber, his joints aching from being held immobile for so long. He onlined his optics, rebooting them a few times to better focus them… and immediately wished he hadn't. So long as he kept them shuttered he could forget that he was cuffed and gagged, trapped in a cell across from his worst enemy. A worst enemy that he happened to share spark programming with, even…

Boisterous laughter filled the air as a cluster of guards strode down the aisle between the two rows of cells, hauling a large but lean mech back to his cell. With a shock Optimus recognized the mech - Shockwave, Megatron's spy who had infiltrated the Autobots in the guise of Longarm Prime, framed Waspinator for his own crimes, and attempted to assassinate Ultra Magnus himself. But now, much like Optimus and Megatron, his wrists were bound in stasis cuffs, and a vocalizer restraint had been bolted to the lower half of his eerie not-quite-a-face.

The restraints and the cyclopic face weren't what made his spark drop into his tanks, though. The deep dents and cracks in his armor, and the trail of leaking oil and energon left in his wake as he was dragged across the floor, were responsible for that. Fluids seeped from various fissures in his plating, his optic was a shattered starburst of red, and both his antler-like headprongs had been bent and twisted, one until it had snapped off completely.

_Bumblebee and Bulkhead didn't leave him in THAT bad of shape when they caught him. This had to happen after we took him into custody. But… surely not… surely this is from a fight with another prisoner, not the guards..._

"Ya know, I thought the ol' double-agent would be tougher than this," one guard noted as they flung Shockwave back into his cell. "But he went down faster than a Starscream clone. Even Swindle was tougher."

"Felt good, though," another gloated. "Teach these mechs to try to start the war all over again."

Optimus wanted to be sick. It wasn't just Megatron who'd been roughed up in prison - other Decepticons were obviously being abused. And it couldn't even be justified as using excessive force to keep a prisoner from escaping - it was brutality, plain and simple, for the sole purpose of allowing the guards to blow off steam at their prisoners' expense.

_But these are Autobots! We're better than this! Why are they doing this to a prisoner who can't even fight back?_

His optics met Megatron's, and though he couldn't speak he was sure his optics were desperately questioning him, demanding an answer. Megatron gave a slight shake of his head - either he knew as little as Optimus did, or he was warning him not to pursue the matter. Not that he could do much investigation from inside a cell anyhow.

"Optimus Prime?"

His attention turned to the guard who had stopped before the transparent door to his cell - a blue-and-orange mech with a strangely sphinx-like helm and a chunky truck alt mode. Recognition hit like the Magnus' hammer, and his spark lurched with an emotion he couldn't quite identify yet.

 _Dion?_ He hadn't seen his fellow cadet since he'd been expelled from the academy. They hadn't been close friends like he and Sentinel had been at one point, but they had been good-natured rivals for a time, and Dion had even gone as far as to throw him a clandestine goodbye party before he had left to join the space bridge crew that would become his team. The last time he'd seen his old classmate, he'd assured him that he'd be a member of the Elite Guard when Optimus returned to Cybertron.

Some small part of him was glad to see he had gone on to fulfill his dream… while the rest of him despaired that he had chosen to participate in this cruelty against the prisoners under his care. Dion had been a scrappy mech, prone to resolving arguments with his fist, but he hadn't been sadistic…

"Well, well, well," Dion noted with a grin, looking Optimus up and down. "You know, Optimus, you never could bluff well when we played cards back in the academy, but it looks like you could lie pretty well when it counted. Somehow you managed to keep a lid on you being the spawn of Megatron for YEARS. I'm impressed."

It took all his strength to shake his head a tiny amount in reply. Why did everyone assume he'd known this all along? Didn't they realize this was as terrible a shock for him as it was for the rest of the Autobots?

"To think the star student, the teacher's pet, was a Decepticon all along," Dion went on. "I knew you were too perfect, too much of a goody two-pedes, to be completely on the up and up. Now that you're not fooling anyone, though, it's time for some payback." He lifted one hand and pounded his knuckles into his palm. "I've been itching to do this for a LONG time, golden-boy."

His tanks clenched. So their rivalry hadn't been as friendly as he thought. But surely he wouldn't stoop so low as to...

"Torque, Jumpstart, Roadblock! How about we give the Hero of Cybertron the ol' welcome to the max-security wing?"

Evidently he would. He strained at his bonds as much as his cuffs would allow, but he only managed a pathetic shiver as Dion opened his cell and motioned for his comrades to haul Optimus out.

As they dragged him out of the cell block, his optics met Megatron's for a brief moment. The silver mech's optics burned with impotent fury, and his entire frame trembled as he watched the guards carry him away. His fingers raised, as if to frantically tap out a code, but Optimus was pulled out of the room before he could catch it.

Some part of him still believed this was all a misunderstanding, that his fellow Autobots were above torturing anyone, be it a Decepticon or one of their own. He still clung to that belief even as he was hauled into an interrogation room. It wasn't until the first blow landed, cracking across his face with enough force to knock his jaw joint out of socket, that his conviction was shattered.

* * *

Sentinel walked into the viewing area that looked in on one of the Kalis Correctional Facility's interrogation rooms to find Ultra Magnus standing before the window, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed on the proceedings. The microphones in said room were turned off, but the muffled thuds of fists on metal could still be heard through the one-way transparisteel. Some prisoner or another was getting worked over rather well - either in an attempt to fish out information about other Decepticon cells, or simply for no other reason other than the guards had the power and the inclination to torment someone.

Sentinel couldn't suppress a wince. He told himself that whoever was on the receiving end of that beatdown was most likely a Decepticon who deserved it… but some small part of him wasn't entirely convinced.

"You sent for me, Magnus?" he asked, pointedly keeping his gaze on the Autobot leader and not trying to catch a glimpse of the unlucky prisoner.

Magnus nodded without turning to look at him, gazing into the interrogation room with a detached expression. "You're to be congratulated for helping us root out a potential traitor in our ranks, Sentinel Prime. You are truly the hero Cybertron needs in these dark times."

Sentinel swallowed, trying to rid his throat tubing of a sudden lump. He'd always wanted to be a hero, but at the moment he didn't feel particularly heroic. Not when Cybertron's true hero was languishing in a cell thanks to his "heroic" actions.

"The Council has another assignment for you," Magnus went on. "You've proven yourself capable and efficient in tracking down the son of Megatron; you should be uniquely suited to this new assignment."

He wished the Magnus wouldn't keep referring to his betrayal of Optimus. Then he shook his head, wondering why he was considering it a betrayal. He hadn't betrayed him - he had identified a potential threat to the Autobots. And Optimus wasn't even a friend anymore, so could it really count as a betrayal?

He said none of this aloud, however. "What's the mission, sir?"

"Optimus being the son of Megatron was a shock to us all… and many of the Council agrees that it's only a symptom of a much larger problem. If one descendent of an infamous Decepticon exists among the Autobots, then surely there are more, hidden from our sight and mixed among ordinary Cybertronians. All just waiting for the opportunity to strike… unless we do something about it."

Sentinel's spark lurched in its chamber. He already knew where this was going, and suddenly he wished he were anywhere but here.

"Your mission is to continue what you did with the son of Megatron, and search our databases for more offspring of the Decepticons. We'll provide you with spark scans of all Decepticons where were captured or offlined, either during the war or the more recent struggles against Megatron's uprising, and you'll have access to any and all public records necessary to fulfill your mission."

He opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't make him look like a fool in front of the Magnus. Did the Council really believe that there were enough potential Decepticon descendents among the Autobots to worry about? Still, if they presented a legitimate threat to Cybertron's security, then perhaps it was necessary. And the fewer potential Decepticons walked the streets, the better, right?

That didn't stop him from dreading this assignment with all his spark, however. Or for a question to rise in his CPU and come out of his vocalizer before he could stop it.

"What's going to be done about these mechs?" he asked. "Will there be a registry system to keep tabs on them?"

Ultra Magnus' lip plates pressed together in a hard line as Sentinel spoke, and his answer was equally flat and hard. "We cannot risk another Great War, Sentinel Prime. And we cannot risk being too lenient on Decepticon traitors, or anyone who has the potential to become one. You and your team have full authorization to arrest these descendants as soon as you identify them, and transport them here for processing."

"I… what?" Sentinel's mouth dropped open, this time out of pure shock rather than any attempt to address the Magnus. Arresting Decepticon spies and agents he could understand, but anyone with Decepticon programming in their spark? Mechs and femmes who had done nothing wrong and were otherwise loyal and ordinary Autobots just trying to live their lives in peace and quiet?

"You understand the importance of keeping Cybertron safe," Magnus informed him. "You yourself called for extra security measures while you were acting Magnus. These measures are more strict than the ones you implemented, but the goal is the same - to protect our people and our planet from the threat that Megatron and his Decepticons present . His Decepticons… AND his descendants."

A blow and a pained grunt, muffled by a layer of transparisteel, reached Sentinel's audials, and he finally turned his optics toward the prisoner. Said prisoner lay on the floor of the interrogation room, curled up in an effort to protect his abdominal plates, with three guards kicking him and leaning down to drive their fists into him. The mech's back was to him, his face hidden from view, but there was no mistaking that color scheme…

 _Optimus!_ His tanks heaved with pain, as if he'd just taken one of the blows meant for the former Prime. Fluid rose in his throat tubing, and he struggled not to purge then and there. He'd wanted to see Optimus' star fall, to see him humiliated in some way, but not like this. Not imprisoned and tortured like a common criminal.

One of the guards bent down and grabbed Optimus by the arm, hauling him to his feet. The red-and-blue mech swayed, steadied only by the other two guards gripping his arms and holding him upright. Then he doubled over, optics darkening with pain, as the third guard punched him in the abdomen. The vocalizer restraint muffled any cry of pain he might have uttered, but Sentinel cringed anyhow.

"Drastic measures have to be taken in times of unrest," Magnus noted in response to Sentinel's horrified reaction. "We cannot tolerate Decepticon activity in any way, shape, or form. Not if we want Cybertron to prosper. Am I understood?"

Sentinel nodded out of pure instinct, the thought of denying the Magnus in any way completely unthinkable. Then something else occurred to him. "What about my team? The Jet Twins? They have Decepticon programming. Am I required to arrest them and hand them over?"

Magnus shook his head. "They bear Starscream's flight programming, but are of Autobot descent. They will be spared due to their useful nature… but keep a close optic on them regardless. If they show any signs of treacherous behavior, we will be forced to incarcerate them as well."

Sentinel clenched a fist in frustrated horror. The thought of those two young mechs, so infuriating yet so loyal and trusting, in Optimus' place, suffering that kind of abuse, made him quail with anger and disgust. Wherever those two idiots were at the moment, he hoped they were keeping their olfactory sensors clean.

"Good luck to you, Sentinel Prime," Ultra Magnus told him. "I trust you won't fail the cause now."

"No, sir," Sentinel replied quietly.

Magnus nodded. "You're dismissed."

Sentinel's gaze moved back to the interrogation room. The guards seemed to have gotten bored with their prisoner, and had grabbed him under the arms and were dragging him out. Optimus hung limply in their grasp, optics dark, a steady drip of fluid trickling from the bottom of his gag. Only a slight twitch of one of his headfins betrayed the fact that he was still alive… though at this point he probably wished he was dead.

His own headpipes twitched as he turned and strode from the viewing room, spark and tanks roiling with horror and disgust. Was this the cause he had fought to protect for so long? Was this what the Autobots were becoming? If they sank to these lows - torturing defenseless prisoners and imprisoning innocents simply based on their lineage - were they really any better than the Decepticons?

* * *

Team Detroit was so focused on getting to Cybertron to save their leader that nobody noticed that they had a stowaway until it was too late.

"Boy, I always thought we'd be returning home under happier circumstances," Bumblebee noted, shifting out of his car mode and rising to his feet to survey Iacon's streets. "Not comin' to rescue the boss."

Prowl transformed as well, moving to stand beside Bumblebee. "Fate rarely calls upon us at a moment of our choosing, Bumblebee. We cannot change it, only determine how we respond to it."

"Wow, that was deep," Bulkhead noted as he shifted with the others. "Did you learn that from Master Yoketron?"

Prowl frowned and looked down at the ground, shuffling his feet. "To be honest… I picked it up from a human film. One of the explosion-fests Bumblebee likes."

Bumblebee smirked. "I THOUGHT I recognized that line! When all this is over I'm totally ragging on you for quoting a Mitch Harbor movie."

"If you idiots are through quoting dumb action movies, we can get a move on," Ratchet grumbled. He pulled up near the others, a shiver running through his frame as he prepared to transform… then stopped. "Frag it all... problem."

"What's wrong, Doc-bot?" Jazz asked, moving to join the others. "Get stuck in your alt mode? Need a hand?"

"Stand back," Ratchet advised, his voice grave. "There's something moving around in my ambulance bay. Must have snuck in right as we went through the space bridge."

Bulkhead and Bumblebee yelped and leaped back, and Jazz flinched and stopped in his tracks. Prowl stepped closer, one hand raised to pull a throwing star out of subspace if necessary. "Do you think it could be an animal of some kind?" the cyberninja asked.

"Could be," Ratchet replied, "but the new base shouldn't be infested with stray cats and raccoons like the old one was. More likely it's one of Soundwave's drones or something else nasty-"

The ambulance's doors burst open, and Prowl pulled out a throwing star… only to sigh and tuck it away again. "Relax, everyone. It's Professor Sumdac."

"WHAT?!" Ratchet transformed on the spot, sending the professor tumbling when he didn't step down from the ambulance bay in time. "What the frag are you doing here, Sumdac?!"

Isaac pushed himself to his feet and carefully dusted himself off before replying in a matter-of-fact tone. "I came to help you rescue Optimus Prime."

"Are you fraggin' nuts?" demanded Ratchet. "In case you haven't noticed, Cybertron is dangerous to organics! You could get stepped on, captured and experimented on, run over-"

Isaac raised a hand to cut Ratchet off mid-sentence. "I'm no stranger to the dangers being around Cybertronians can bring," he replied. "But I will face them. I don't know how much help I can be to you… but if Captain Fanzone can come to Cybertron and be useful, then I assume I can too."

"With all due respect, Professor Sumdac, Optimus Prime is our superior officer… and our friend," Prowl explained. "As such, we owe it to him to try to rescue him. You're under no obligation-"

"Optimus Prime is MY friend too," Isaac cut in. "He stood by me and was willing to help me, even knowing what I had done on Megatron's behalf. And he is a friend of my daughter, too. After all he's done for me, I won't stand back and just watch while you launch a rescue. I will help him however I can, and repay my debt."

Ratchet scowled, but his anger at Professor Sumdac's stubborn stupidity melted in the face of his brave words. "Prime wouldn't ask you to repay any debt, Professor… but I'm sure he'd appreciate the sentiment if he were here. And at any rate, it's too late to toss you back through the space bridge and leave you behind. But stay CLOSE! Autobots aren't overly fond of organics, and you're liable to get squashed if the wrong one spots you. And don't do anything stupid."

"Oh, let him do somethin' stupid," Jazz quipped. "Why should he be any different from the rest of us?"

"I don't need commentary from the nuts and bolts gallery," Ratchet grumbled as he stooped to pick up the professor. "C'mon… let's head for the Hall of Iacon. Either Ultra Magnus or at least some of the Council should be there, and we can plead our case to them."

"We might as well argue with a brick wall," Bumblebee muttered. "They ain't gonna listen to us."

"Aw, don't be a pessa… passa… what's the word?" Bulkhead scratched his head, searching for the term, then gave up. "Don't be so down, Bee. I'm sure someone on the Council'll see reason."

"Bumblebee's right for once," Ratchet noted. "Approaching the Council will probably be a hopeless task."

"If it's so hopeless, why do you suggest it as the first course of action?" asked Isaac.

"So we can claim we tried to do this legitimately first," Ratchet replied. "And as much as I think it WON'T work… well, sometimes you have to try something stupid once, because it just might work."

Jazz smirked a little. "You've got a point, Doc. Lead the way then."

Ratchet snorted and motioned for the ragtag group of space bridge workers, cyberninjas, and a stowaway human to follow him, cutting down a side alley in case a patrol came their way. "Jazz and I'll talk to Ultra Magnus or any of the Council who're present and see if we can't get him to release Prime. The rest of you head for the service tunnels and work your way to Kalis. I'll signal you if negotiations go south."

"Kalis?" repeated Isaac.

"The correctional facilities," Prowl replied.

"Prisons," Jazz corrected. "Call 'em any fancy names you want, but that's what they are."

"Whatever you call 'em, we can probably assume that Optimus is in the max-security wing," Ratchet informed them. "So get as close to it as you can and we'll plan from there."

"But Prime hasn't done anything wrong!" Bulkhead protested. "Why would he be there?"

"It doesn't matter what he did or didn't do," Ratchet replied. "The fear and hatred they feel towards Megatron are all that matter to them. Optimus Prime could be a fraggin' Firstforged and all they'd care about is that he's the son of a Decepticon."

"But he's the hero of Cybertron!" Bumblebee insisted. "That's gotta count for somethin'!"

"Hate to say it, lil' buddy, but Doc's got a point," Jazz replied gravely. "Bein' in the Elite Guard, I've seen some things - mechs fully qualified for a job or a promotion, but passed over in favor of some son of a Council member or an Allspark-forged mech. Lots've mechs believe programmin' is everythin', no matter what you do to try an' change their minds. Y' dig?"

"I 'dig,' yeah," Bumblebee replied, hooking his fingers in imaginary quotation marks. "But it doesn't mean I have to like it-"

"We're being followed," Isaac cut in.

Ratchet froze in his tracks, his magnetic prongs sliding from his wrist guards. "How'd you figure that out? Do organics have some kind of scanning system we don't?"

"We have a scanning system," Isaac replied dryly. "It's called our eyes. I looked behind us and saw something move in the shadows."

The Autobots whirled in their tracks, Bumblebee's stingers crackling to life and Bulkhead's wrecking ball whirling overhead like a helicopter rotor. Jazz and Prowl drew their nunchucks and throwing stars respectively, though Prowl handed his star to Isaac before drawing another one. The professor struggled under the weight of the weapon, but ultimately seemed to decide that a too-big weapon was better than no weapon at all.

"Come out, whoever you are!" Ratchet ordered. "Rodimus Prime, if that's you, I'm gonna strip your paint. I left you clear instructions to stay on Earth!"

A low, liquid chuckle flowed out of the shadows. "I believe you are mistaken, Autobot," the speaker informed him, his voice thick with an implacable accent. "I am not Rodimus Prime… though I hope you'll admit I'm far more charming than that upstart."

Bumblebee shuddered. "Who the frag is that? And why's he talking like an old-school movie vampire?"

Ratchet narrowed his optics. If this was who he thought it was… "Get behind me, all of you. And whatever happens, do NOT look into his optics! Especially the third one!"

"Third one… oh no." Prowl stepped up beside Ratchet, arm raised to hurl one of his stars at a moment's notice. "Him."

"Yes, him." Ratchet turned back to the shadows. "Come out of hiding with your hands up and your optics on the ground. You're under arrest."

Another chuckle, and a mech stepped into view. Maroon and black with elegant gold detailing, he bore folded black wings edged and ribbed in gold, webbed like those of a bat. Thin red optics burned in a severe face… and a third diamond-shaped optic glowed in the center of his tall, cylindrical helm. All three optics were fixed on the street as he raised his maroon-clawed hands, but a smug smile split his faceplate nonetheless.

"Mindwipe," Jazz muttered. "Thought the war scared you into your cave for good."

"Who?" asked Bumblebee, not lowering his stingers.

"One of Megatron's spies," Ratchet replied. "Skilled manipulator and hypnotist. Crazy as a Sharkticon too, though good enough at his job that Megatron doesn't care."

Mindwipe chuckled yet again. "Come now, good doctor, simply because a mech converses with the sparks of those who have left us to dwell within the Well of All Sparks doesn't mean he's mad. As much as many like to dismiss anything they see as different as pure insanity."

Bulkhead and Bumblebee exchanged a look at that. Bulkhead raised one hand and twirled it around his audial receptor with a little whistle, and Bumblebee snorted with laughter.

"I don't care who you chat with, just answer some questions," Ratchet snapped. "What are you doing here? And why are you following us? I thought all Megatron's troops were either captured or on the run."

Mindwipe smirked. "Not all of us, good doctor. Some do choose to abandon our noble leader in his hour of greatest need, but others of us simply lie low and bide our time until we can restore him to his former glory. Commander Strika is one of these, and she has recruited more mechs to her unit to further this cause."

"So you're on Team Chaar now," Jazz noted. "Great. Just what that group'a crazies needs, another full-on loony."

"If you're quite done insulting me, my dear warrior, I may answer your doctor's other question," Mindwipe replied, voice calm and unruffled despite the jab. "I follow you because at this time, it seems we have a common goal."

Ratchet's scowl deepened. "We're after Optimus Prime, not your crackpot leader."

"Father or son, the end result is the same." Mindwipe bowed deeply, his wings rustling behind him like a cape. "As a representative of Commander Strika and Team Chaar, I have come to you to propose an alliance. Shall we join forces and take on the prison of Kalis together?"

Ratchet huffed. "Stay right there and don't move a servo. Let me consult my team. Bulkhead, if he so much as glances at any of us, pummel him."

"Right, Ratchet." Bulkhead shifted forward, though notably he kept his gaze everywhere but on the mech's face. Mindwipe just smiled, seeming pleased at the bigger mechs discomfiture.

"This is a bad idea, Ratchet," Prowl told him. "Decepticons aren't to be trusted, a hypnotist like Mindwipe least of all."

"Come on, we need all the help we can get!" Bumblebee protested. "And who said we had to trust him? At least this way we can keep an optic on him and make sure his team doesn't ambush us in a dark corner or something."

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, I know," Ratchet replied. "Prowl makes a good point, though. Decepticon or not, Mindwipe's dangerous. And this could all be a trap to get rid of us."

"Could be," Jazz admitted. "But the alternative's lettin' Team Chaar do their own thing without us. An' I like that even less than workin' with 'em."

Ratchet turned to Isaac. "Anything you want to add, Professor?"

Isaac looked at the bat-winged Decepticon, then back up at Ratchet. "I say we join forces… but on the condition that he's blindfolded the whole time. Unless his powers work regardless of whether his optics are covered?"

"As far as I know, he needs optic contact to enthrall someone," Ratchet replied. "All right then…" He turned to face Mindwipe. "It's a deal, but we're blindfolding you until our mission's accomplished."

Mindwipe rested a hand on his chest. "You wound me with your distrust, good doctor… but I will accept that condition. Just let me contact Commander Strika, and we can forge a plan."

Ratchet nodded sharply. He knew he'd just struck a bargain with the devil to help his old friend… but at this point, he would make a deal with Unicron if it meant freeing Optimus Prime. He just hoped this wouldn't come back to bite them all in the afts.


	9. Family Ties

_Megatron had just hung up his arm cannon and turned toward the berth to retire for the night when he caught movement out of the corner of his optic. Instinct kicked in, and he snatched the cannon back off its wall hooks and turned, ready to bring the weapon to bear… but he relaxed the moment he identified the intruder._

" _Orion," he murmured. "You really are old enough to be recharging in your own berth."_

_Orion just gazed back with a pleading expression, clutching his turbofox plush to his chest. The dim light in Megatron's bedchamber gleamed off his violet and black armor, and his bright blue optics shimmered with the unspoken entreaty. He looked down at his feet, took a hesitant step into the chamber, and looked back up at his father._

_Megatron sighed. If there was one force on the universe that could stir his iron spark, it was this newspark. "Just for tonight, then."_

_The child's entire face lit up with delight, and he darted into the room and scrambled up into the berth before Megatron could change his mind. He burrowed into the freshly-arranged thermal blankets, settling in, then peered up at his father. His wide, round optics bore another silent question - a request to be tucked in._

_Megatron let a smile creep over his faceplate. Those optics had caused quite a stir among his Decepticons - not a proper red, not even yellow or violet, but a color Starscream disparagingly termed "Autobot-blue." Rumors had flown for a short time that Megatron had simply stolen an Autobot child to raise as his own, or that Orion was the product of a clandestine union or fling with an Autobot soldier. Few were bold enough to speak those rumors to the Great Slagmaker's face, of course, and he was quick to quash them whenever they were spoken within his audial range._

_Shockwave, upon inspecting the child, had explained that while certain optic colors were prevalent among Autobots and Decepticons, they weren't entirely unique to either faction. And it wasn't uncommon for a newspark to start off with optics of one color, only for them to shift to another hue over time. Given time, Orion's optics might change… and if they didn't, Megatron could always have him wear a red visor to avoid drawing attention._

_Megatron, for his part, didn't care. Orion's optics could be blue or red or even bright green - it didn't change his feelings for him in the least. And he refused to force his child to wear any kind of visor or mask. He would NOT let him think of himself as flawed or imperfect for something as silly as his optic color._

" _Father?" Orion chirped, headfins flicking._

_Megatron shook his head and climbed into the berth beside him, pulling the thermal blanket over both of them. "Don't mind me, little one. Your father simply has a lot on his processor."_

_Orion wriggled against him to get comfortable, his fox plush tucked under his chin. "I can help?"_

_Megatron chuckled and patted his back. "There'll be time for you to help me when you're older, little one. For now, your duty is to learn and grow. To be a child."_

_Orion opened his mouth to respond to that, only for a yawn to drown out whatever he had to say._

" _Rest, little one," Megatron urged. "Tomorrow's another day."_

_Orion nodded, and his optic shutters slid shut as he drifted into recharge. Megatron, for his part, lay awake a long time, gazing at the protoform in his arms, committing every detail to memory. As much as he insisted it was high time Orion slept in his own berth, he knew he would miss moments like this when the child finally decided he didn't need to seek his creator out every night. And Orion might occasionally ruin his recharge cycle by kicking and squirming in his own sleep, but Megatron found it worth the price…_

The slam of a cell door being shut snapped Megatron out of his funk, and he shook away the lingering vestiges of memory and raised his head. The guards were across the corridor from him, locking Optimus back in his cell. They laughed and slapped one another's backs and shoulders as if they'd just come back from a sports match, but the scuffs on their knuckles and the fluids smearing their armor gave away the true, brutal nature of their activities.

Megatron's spark curdled with rage as the guards strutted off, giving him an unobstructed view of the red mech. Optimus slumped against the back wall of his cell, head lolling to one side, optics dark. Deep dents and rents marred his plating, a spiderweb of cracks crazed across the windshields on his chest, and energon dripped from beneath his vocalizer restraint. His status as an Autobot, the Hero of Cybertron, hadn't been enough to save him from the guards' abuse.

 _Orion… my son…_ Some part of him still found this entire situation unthinkable. His son, the little mech he had long given up as dead, had survived. Survived and been raised as one of the enemy, taught to hate and fear his own father, to see him as a monster.

 _I nearly killed him… I nearly slew my own son._ Horror warred with the anger in his spark, both emotions making his entire frame shake. To learn that his son was not only alive after all this time, but a soldier for the Autobot cause whom he had tried to kill multiple times, was almost more than his exhausted spark could bear. And to see him suffer like this for the sins of his father - a father he had never known except as a monster - only angered him further.

Optimus stirred, then online his optics. He raised his head and gazed blearily at Megatron, as if trying to comprehend where he'd seen the mech before. Then he seemed to recall just where he was, and his optics dimmed with mingled anger and despair. Understandable, Megatron knew, but all the same it was sparkrending to see such emotions in those optics.

Megatron focused all his strength on tapping out a message - _okay?_

Optimus gave him a look that plainly said _what do you think?_ His return message was much shorter and a blatant lie - _yes._

Megatron dimmed his own optics as he tapped a response. _Failed. Failed… you._ For it had been his duty to protect his son, and he had utterly failed. Not just in saving him from the slave-trading pirates who had snatched him from his grasp in the first place, but in protecting him from the wrath of the Autobots. Never mind that he was bound and exhausted, physically incapable of anything more than twitching his fingertips - he still held himself responsible for the harm that had come to his son.

Optimus gazed at him for a long moment, the steady tick of energon dripping onto his chestplate the only sound coming from his cell. Then, hesitantly, he tapped out a message of his own.

 _You… zero… action._ He scowled, obviously frustrated with the limitations of the tapping code, but repeated it anyhow. _You. Zero. Action._

Megatron puzzled over those words, until their meaning finally came clear - _there was nothing you could do._ Perhaps he was being too optimistic and misinterpreting… but somehow, he was certain that was the correct answer.

 _Failed,_ he insisted. For none of this would have happened to Optimus - to Orion - had he just kept him safe. If he had been just a little more vigilant in keeping their sector of space clear of the slavers, if he had just kept a heavier guard on his ship…

Optimus tapped again, pausing now and then as he struggled to put his reply together. _Mission over… outcome final. Onward._

Megatron shuttered his optics. _It's the past… there is no changing it. We can only move forward._ Noble words, perhaps, but "moving forward" was going to be difficult at the moment. Neither of them had the strength or ability to break free, no rescue was forthcoming, and unlike his previous captivity he wasn't even connected to Dr. Sumdac's computer system to manipulate matters to his advantage. Perhaps, for once, escape was impossible…

Blitzwing hacked like an electrocat coughing up something nasty, and a loud _clang_ echoed from his cell as, once again, he slipped his vocalizer gag. He smacked noisily a few times before his lunatic personality spoke up.

"Ohohoho, zis gets trickier ever time I do it," he noted, and it was a testament to just how brutal their captivity had been that the "random" personality actually sounded downbeat and tired for once. "My glossa's in knots! Zink zey'll finally catch on that it's useless and stop putting it back on?"

Megatron fought the urge to roll his optics. Could the triple-changer NOT be obnoxious for once in his functioning time? At least he didn't have to see it in action - few Decepticons could look at Blitzwing's freakishly-long striped glossa without recoiling in disgust.

Optimus' optics lit up, and he quickly tapped something out. _Repeat maneuver._

"Ohohoho, I can do zis lockpicking all day," Blitzwing replied. "Vant me to lock it and unlock it again, _schatzi_?"

Optimus tapped out a _no,_ then let his gaze rest pointedly on Blitzwing's wrist cuffs.

"Ah." Blitzwing's voice was far more level now, his cold personality coming to the fore. "Zat vill be trickier. We're not sure our glossa can reach zat far. But it is a clever idea."

The young Autobot's headfins drooped, but at least Blitzwing's actions seemed to have snapped him out of his funk. He tilted his head to one side, some of the angry fire fading from his optics as he contemplated. Evidently the triple-changer's antics had sparked the beginnings of an idea, and he'd decided to push his emotions to the side for the moment to plot further.

Megatron, for his part, shuttered his optics and pondered a plan of his own. Blitzwing had just proven that they weren't entirely helpless in their cells… and if he could figure out a way to throw off at least one of his restraints, perhaps they could manage the same.

_If nothing else… I will ensure you escape, Orion. I've failed you twice now… I won't fail you again. Even if it costs me my life._

* * *

This was the eighth door Sentinel Prime had knocked on today, and if he had hoped it would get any easier he was terribly wrong. Each time he desperately hoped that no one was home, that the inevitable confrontation could be delayed for a time. And each time he found himself facing another mech, forced to deliver news that would, one way or another, change their lives forever.

He wasn't going to get any luckier with this apartment, it seemed. The mech who opened the door was a sleek blue mechanism with a crimson faceplate and a white chevron over his brow, a short set of wings jutting from his shoulders despite his obvious ground-vehicle mode. He'd just opened his mouth to tell off whoever had knocked at such a late hour, only to freeze at the sight of Sentinel, mouth hanging open and his tirade forgotten.

"Are you Autobot Tracks?" Sentinel demanded, forcing as much sternness into his voice as he could.

The blue mech stammered a bit before collecting himself. "I-I-I am. To whom do we owe the pleasure of an Elite Guard visit?" He reached up to fiddle with his spectacles - a useless accessory in Sentinel's opinion, as most mechs with optic damage just got them repaired rather than relying on external aids. "Mirage! Mirage, we have an important guest!"

"At this hour?" a second mech - blue and white, with blue markings resembling a half-mask framing his golden optics and with the sleekly elegant build of a Towers-district noble - demanded with a frown, joining Tracks in the doorway. "I just got the little ones in bed… oh my."

At the mention of "little ones" Sentinel barely suppressed a wince. Bad enough that he was ordered to detain one of these mechs for his Decepticon heritage - according to Ultra Magnus' orders he was required to arrest any sparklings he found as well. The Council was apparently taking no chances on any mech with Decepticon programming escaping their clutches.

"This matter doesn't concern you, Mirage," Sentinel barked, struggling to quell the squirming sensation in his spark. "You may go. My business is with Tracks alone."

"With all due respect, Prime, anything that concerns my conjux concerns me as well," Mirage replied coolly, narrowing his golden optics. "What business do you have with him? We've been complying with the curfews, I assure you."

"This isn't about the curfews," Sentinel replied. "This is about the fact that you, Tracks, have Decepticon programming."

Both mechs' optics blazed in horror. That seemed to be the standard reaction for everyone he confronted - utter, undiluted terror, whether at finally learning the horrible truth about their origins or at learning that a dreadful family secret had been discovered. Sentinel wondered how anyone could feel the slightest shred of satisfaction in uncovering these so-called traitors upon seeing their reactions.

"You must be mistaken," Tracks insisted, and tried to shut the door in Sentinel's face.

Sentinel put a hand out to keep the door opened. "There's no mistake. Your creation records show that you were a sparked mech, not forged. And by cross-examining your spark scans with the scans of known Decepticon criminals, we've determined that you were sparked by Fearswoop, one of Megatron's generals, now deceased."

The two mechs could only gape, their optics paling the longer Sentinel spoke until they were nearly white. Why didn't either of these Bots attack him and attempt to escape, or at the very least turn and flee further into the apartment? Why did these mechs always just stand there and listen to his condemning words, as if they had no choice but to submit to arrest?

"As a direct descendent of a known Decepticon criminal, you are hereby declared a threat to the safety of Cybertron, and are to be placed under arrest immediately," he continued. "You will comply quietly and without resistance, or I am authorized to use whatever force is necessary to ensure your compliance."

Tracks shook hard enough for the stubby wings on his shoulders - wings that were no doubt part of his Decepticon heritage - to tremble uncontrollably. "P-P-Prime sir… I'm a model citizen. I've never had so much as a speeding ticket. I'm a fashionable mod designer, for Allspark's sake! S-surely the Autobot Command doesn't think I'm a threat…"

"The Magnus' orders are clear," Sentinel said sternly. "Your Decepticon heritage makes you a threat, and you have to be contained for the safety of Cybertron and its citizens."

"But… but I have a family!" Tracks protested. "My sparklings! Who will provide for-" He froze, his optics paling to pure white as he realized what he'd just done. "No… no, please, you can't lock them up too! They're so young, they don't even know who their grandfather is, you can't-"

Sentinel raised his hand, silencing Tracks' terrified blathering. "I have my orders. I'm to cuff you and your offspring and transport you immediately to Kalis."

"This is outrageous!" Mirage cried, the fury in his voice barely concealing his own horror. "You'll arrest a mech simply based on who happened to spark him-"

"I am allowed to give you an hour to put your affairs in order," Sentinel went on, ignoring the two mechs. "I am certainly not permitted to advise you to gather your children and anything you can't live without and flee out the back entrance of your home, nor am I to inform you that the Elite Guard will be distracted while you make your escape."

Mirage stared, bafflement overtaking his terror. "What…"

"I certainly am not permitted to tell you that there is an area in the Dead Sector where other Autobots of Decepticon heritage are taking refuge. You are not advised to go there as quickly as possible - without powering on your headlights if at all possible. You certainly shouldn't stick to back roads and underground passages, and I certainly don't suggest that you settle in there as best you can and await further updates."

Tracks' optics flared a bright blue as he realized just what Sentinel was doing. "W-why-"

"I'm not at liberty to say anything else," Sentinel replied. "You have an hour. I'll be back then to take you into custody. Chop-chop, Autobot!"

Cleanser welled up in Tracks' optics. "Th-thank you… thank you so much…"

Mirage wrapped one arm around Tracks' shoulders and pulled him in for a quick hug. "We are in your debt, Sentinel Prime. Come, love... I'll go wake up the kids while you-" And he shut the door in Sentinel's face, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

Sentinel drew in a shaky intake, then turned and strode away. He'd make a follow-up visit in an hour to ensure they'd taken his "not-advice," then report that Tracks had somehow been tipped off that his arrest was imminent and had vanished without a trace. With any luck, Tracks, Mirage, and their sparklings would be able to evade the patrols and reach the tentative sanctuary of the Dead Sector without difficulty.

He knew that this was a fool's errand - sooner or later someone was going to notice that he had yet to actually make any arrests, and that an alarming number of suspicious Autobots were abandoning their homes and businesses and seemingly evaporating into thin air. And once Ultra Magnus was informed of what was truly going on, then Sentinel could fully expect to be stripped of his Elite Guard crest… or even thrown in a cell alongside Optimus, considered a traitor to the Autobot cause.

But despite the nervous churning in his tanks, he couldn't bring himself to regret what he was doing. Ultra Magnus had pushed him over a line he refused to cross… and while it might be too late to correct the damage he'd already inflicted on Optimus, he could at least save others from a similar fate. Perhaps he was simply delaying the inevitable, but frag it, he had to try.

He checked the datapad in his hand for the next name on his list, then collapsed into his alt mode and drove off. He had many more stops to make, and he dreaded every one of them.

* * *

The fiery rays of the setting sun blazed off of Starscream's armor as he stretched luxuriously, wings flared wide and arms thrown skyward. For a moment he reveled in sensations that had been absent for far too long - of every limb and component working smoothly, of the play of light across the angles of his stunning chassis, of air currents caressing his wings and just begging him to take flight. He was whole again, gloriously complete… and ready to take on the world.

"Excellent," he purred, lowering his arms and tilting one wing to check it for any possible flaws. "Most excellent. I'm impressed, Wreck-Gar."

"All in a day's work!" Wreck-Gar assured him as he snapped the lid of his "toolbox" - in reality a chest freezer filled with any odds and ends he deemed remotely useful - shut and dropped it into his backpack with a resounding clang. "Be sure to schedule a follow-up appointment-"

"Yes, yes," he muttered with a dismissive wave. "You've been helpful." Perhaps that was damning the junky mech with faint praise - he was pretty much the only reason Starscream was even walking right now. He'd been online and watching the entire time Wreck-Gar repaired him, and in all honesty he was still baffled as to just how he'd managed to fix his chassis and reattach his head. A lot of duct tape seemed to be involved, and he could have sworn that the mech had used an old lawnmower engine and a video-game console as spare parts somewhere along the way. He had thought to complain, but then, Cybertronian components were probably hard to come by on this planet, and one had to make do with what they had.

But now Wreck-Gar's usefulness had passed… and it was time to move on. Time to round up his clones and take stock of the situation here on Earth and on Cybertron… and time to plan his takeover of both.

"You are looking much better, Starscream sir!" Jetstorm exclaimed, clapping his hands. "We are glad you got your body back!"

"Does this mean we should be going home, though?" Jetfire asked. "We have answered the SOS… Sentinel Prime will not be liking it if we are gone too long. He is being cranky like that."

Starscream turned to regard the young jetformers, cupping his chin in thought. Like Wreck-Gar, these two had proven useful… but unlike the Junk-ion, perhaps they hadn't outlived their usefulness yet. They had helped him unquestioningly, dragging his chassis off the makeshift funeral byre and handing Wreck-Gar tools and equipment as he'd patched him back together. And neither of them had even flinched upon seeing the Decepticon symbols on his wings - well, they'd poked at them curiously for a bit, but didn't seem all that bothered by them.

"Just because you are being a Decepticon doesn't mean we should be leaving you in pieces," Jetfire had told him. "Besides, you are a fellow flier! We are not seeing those very often! Fliers stick together!"

 _Yes.. fliers stick together._ A slow smile spread across his features as he studied the twins, a plan brewing in his CPU. The poor dears, really - fliers being raised by Autobots, who had no idea how to properly train or care for a jetformer. They deserved to be properly brought up by a true flier, to learn from a master of the sky instead of groundbounds who considered anything with wings to be evil.

Not to mention that these two bore his programming - were, in effect, technically his sons. And who better to teach these two than their own father, so to speak? Yes, it really was for the best that he take these two under his wing and properly teach and raise them, care for them…

He shook his head, dismissing that last part. This was purely to recruit two more loyal soldiers for his personal forces. That was right, it was a tactical decision, certainly not out of any actual _fondness_ for these two scamps… right?

"What are you staring at, Starscream sir?" Jetstorm asked.

"Why… two very capable fliers, of course," he replied, voice as warm as he could make it. "Ones who take after their parent."

Jetstorm and Jetfire exchanged puzzled looks, then turned back to Starscream. "But we are not remembering our parents, Starscream sir," Jetstorm remarked.

Starscream rebooted his optics at that. "Oh? Nothing about them at all?"

"Our memories are being… fragged up, as Sentinel Prime likes to say," Jetstorm replied. "We are not remembering our parents… or what we were before we got upgraded to be fliers. But Perceptor and Sentinel Prime were teaching us after our upgrade, so… I suppose they are kind of being our parents?"

Starscream chuckled and shook his head. ""Oh no, my dears, this won't do. You deserve to be raised by a TRUE parent." He rested a hand on his cockpit. "Me."

Jetfire's optics flared in shock. "You… you are being our father?"

Starscream nodded. Perhaps that explanation was a bit simplistic - he certainly had no hand in creating these two, only in providing the programming for their reformat - but if these two accepted it as fact, he was that much closer to recruiting them.

Evidently they accepted it with great enthusiasm - they charged forward as one, wrapping their arms around his waist. "DADDY!"

"What the- I am not- oh, bother." Starscream scowled, wings drooping as the twins clung to him like overeager sparklings, beaming up at him with admiring smiles. "Fine… I'm your daddy. Just don't call me that in front of anyone else!"

"What about him?" Jetstorm asked, pointing at Wreck-Gar.

Starscream watched as the garbage-truck-former squatted to poke at a raccoon. "He's fine. Wreck, if you speak a word of this to anyone, I'll sink you to the bottom of the lake."

"Mum's the word!" Wreck-Gar vowed. "Well, I guess Pop's the word, or Dad, or Father, or Old Man, or That Bastard Who Ran Off With His Secretary…"

Starscream decided he'd rather not know what he was blathering on about and turned back to the twins. "Transform and rise up, my sons! I will teach you to be proper fliers… and you will help me build an empire!"

The two jetformers whooped with glee and released him. "Yes, Dad!"

Starscream gritted his dental plates and prepared to shift… only for a plaintive shout to stop him in his tracks.

"Hey! What about me?"

He turned to glower at Wreck-Gar. "What about you?"

"You're not just gonna leave me behind, are you?" the Junk-ion pleaded, his optics wide and shining in a pathetic display of emotion.

"Well, far be it from us to take you from your home," Starscream replied, gesturing at the expansive landfill that was his kingdom. "We're thankful for your help, and you will be compensated-"

Wreck-Gar's reaction was both unexpected and spectacular - he flung himself forward and wrapped his arms around Starscream's legs, crying with enough force to send twin streams of cleanser flowing down his face.

"PLEASE!" he sobbed. "PLEASE don't leave me behind! I'm all alone! The Autobots won't visit me here - not even the other temporary Autobots! The humans call me a worthless wreck and a freak and chase me with helicopters! The junkyard cats and the hobos and the garbage collectors just scream and run when they see me!"

The twins made sympathetic cooing sounds at Wreck-Gar's tragic story. Starscream's first impulse was to roll his optics. Though come to think of it, he knew something of what it was to be an outcast from his own kind…

"All right, Wreck-Gar-" he began, but the mech wasn't done.

"My mother was a garbage truck and my father was a shiny alien widget who never even paid child support!" He pulled the ratty beach towel from his pack and blew his olfactory sensor with it. "My brothers and sisters all hated me because I was an only child! PLEASE let me come with you!"

"All right!" Starscream snapped. "All right, you can come with us, just stop talking!"

"Okay." And as abruptly as that Wreck-Gar calmed down and got to his feet. "Uh, I don't have wings."

Starscream turned to the twins. "You two carry him. Surely you can manage that between you-"

"Yes, Dad!" they chirped in unison… and they promptly began to transform, their bodies splitting and fusing together before Starscream's stunned optics until a totally new mech stood before him. Half-orange and half-blue, split weirdly down the middle, he crouched down and slid his hands under Wreck-Gar's arms before taking to the air, letting the Junk-ion's legs dangle beneath him.

"Huh… that's new," he noted, though not without a sly smile. These two mechs continued to surprise him… and exhibit powers beyond anything he could imagine. They would be formidable soldiers to add to his army.

He took to the air, transforming to his own jet mode and gunning his engines to catch up to his new troops. He had a lot of work ahead of him… but he was confident it would be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random!Blitzwing's tongue is a bit of "fanon" I stole from Tumblr. Credit for that goes to the original artist. That long "Beetlejuice"-style tongue seems to have inspired some more, ah, NSFW fanarts, but I figured it could be put to less adult use here. 
> 
> Wreck-Gar's line about "my brothers and sisters all hated me because I was an only child" comes almost directly from Weird Al's song "Generic Blues." Yes, be prepared for plenty of actor allusions regarding Wreck-Gar and his VA. I'm not sorry in the least.


End file.
